Cut It Out and Restart
by AnikaAnn
Summary: 'Damned' series. It starts with a death. It continues with another one. And one more. Death is the end. But it can also be a beginning. She can't live with what happened. But just before she takes her own life, Phil Coulson pays her a visit in prison with an offer. She accepts. She dies. And a SHIELD agent of whom very few people know where she came from lives and joins the Bus.
1. Prologue

_Title inspired by Halsey – Eyes Closed (stripped version is super raw btw)_

_This was supposed to be the end of Damned series. I made it better by turning it into a prologue. Or… did I? You can roll with the Colours instalment being the end. _

-.-.-.-.-

**Prologue: With Eyes Closed**

God, his body felt so heavy.

Matt knew it was the bullets in his side; the throbbing pain slowly dulling, the overwhelming smell of copper and the blood loss, they were making him lose control over his body, while he had been trying to make it home, for her. He had to.

Vera would be pissed if he didn't come home to her, didn't come to her for help.

He stumbled into their apartment with a loud crash, his body colliding with the railing of the stairwell. _Shit_. That would definitely wake her up- except it wouldn't, because, apparently, she wasn't asleep in the first place.

Matt limped down the stairs, ungracefully landing on the couch, smiling inconspicuously and unwittingly as he heard her slow footsteps from the bedroom. Sleepy. And _heavy_, because she was carrying another life under her own heart, a piece of her, a piece of him. A piece of them and their love. _God,_ he had cried and cried when she had insisted on the one name, even when she had found out they were having a girl. It was incredibly sweet and he just loved her so much for it; as if he needed another reason.

"Hey," he greeted her weakly, attempting his smile to be reassuring.

Vera sighed, walking to him, seating herself on the table in the living room so she could face him. She must have examined him with her eyes only – soundlessly – because she soon hissed as she saw his no doubt crimson hands. The wound on his side was… severe. And it was not a trickle of blood between his fingers; maybe when he was pressing really hard, yeah, but when he wasn't… it was a steady strong stream. Matt knew as well as she did that something major had been hit.

Her heartbeat stuttered as she feared she wouldn't be able to fix this one.

"Do you want to call Claire?" he asked, well-aware that Vera had never been the one to believe herself enough to handle a bullet wound. Hell, Claire would probably send him to the hospital as well. Especially since these were _two_ bullets in him.

"No, I can handle it. I mean, I know I always call Claire for an injury like this, but with Jackie… I feel stronger. We can do it. She wants to save you as much as I do."

Matt felt his heart flutter at her words, the well-known pleasant weakness making him dizzy. He sobbed, reaching out to touch her grown belly. The moment his fingers traced it over the thin fabric, their baby kicked out as if wanting to say hello. Matt sobbed again, a shiver running through his body.

"Hey, looks like Jackie agrees with me. She loves you already." She caressed her belly lovingly, stripping Matt's glove before taking his hand in hers. Matt bit his cheek to stop himself from crying out in misery. He knew this was the end and he couldn't decide whether he was glad or not. "Does it hurt too much?"

Matt shook his head hastily, his hair damped with cold sweat flying before sticking to his forehead again. He didn't remember losing his helmet, but he must have done it along the way.

"Then what is it, Matt?" she asked gently, her other hand covering his as well, the one he had in his wound, trying only half-heartedly to stop the blood from pouring out.

"I missed you," he whimpered miserably, his eyelids fluttering at their touch. God, he missed her so, _so_ badly. It was impossible to breathe without her, to live, to even exist.

"I'm right here, Matt," she soothed him, soft smile in her voice. "Is that why you came so early? Because you missed me? Missed us?"

_Early. _

Matt bit his lip. He was not about to admit that he might have been a little reckless just to be with her sooner. With both of them. His beautiful wife and their child. It wasn't virtuous, so sue him, he wasn't perfect. He was well-aware it was dangerously close to cheating, but not quite, he hadn't pulled the trigger. He hoped it would be enough, that he could be forgiven for that.

"I was… I was hoping you'd be waiting for me."

She kissed his forehead lovingly. His heart fluttered happily at the soft warm touch. She slowly moved to his lips as well, nibbling on them sweetly, tender, like a breath of life. Matt felt several tears escaping his eyes and unable to resist, he sunk into her lips, chasing the feeling he missed so much.

"I'll always wait for you, Matt. You know I'll be here, waiting for you to come home."

Matt's mind refused to decide between sobbing and chuckling, so he let out a little bit of both, a strange choked noise.

"Shhh," she soothed him again, running her hand through his hair, meeting his lips again.

Matt breathed her in, like a drowning man earning some oxygen after an endless time under water. Vanilla and coconut, coffee and her. And him over her. Warm skin, silk hair. His fingers eased the pressure against the blood flow, until he finally gave in completely and reached for her face with both his hands, pulling her closer.

"Come on, don't do this to me," she whispered exasperatedly, stopping the bleeding instead of him. Strangely enough, when she did it, it hurt less. Matt didn't think it hurt at all actually, not anymore. "Not yet."

Matt didn't have to wonder what she meant. He should probably feel guilty, but for once in his life, he didn't. This wasn't his doing.

'_Not yet.'_

'_Came so early.'_

Matt had lost awareness of time, but there had been moments he knew _exactly_ how long it had been, counting it over and over again. That had been usually on the particularly bad days, the kind of days he would rather wear the same clothes over and over again than stepping into their bedroom to change, overwhelmed by the empty bed, the empty crib. The kind of days he would open his freezer where she had stocked the Christmas sweets leftovers and he would let one piece defrost just to crumble it between his fingers, letting the aroma spread in the apartment, lulling him to sleep as he would nestle on the couch, cold and alone, just like every other night for the past four years.

God, it had been _four years._ Four years, two months and nine days in his very own personal hell with no way out. The others had tried. Oh, they had tried so hard, to make him hang out with them, to make him get rid of her stuff, because until he would, there was no getting get over it.

The thing was, he didn't want to get over it.

He knew it was sick; her shadow still being here, her words so sweet, the feeling of her skin and lips on him so real he could cry, her soap and shampoo he kept buying over and over just to hold onto her scent – and she always thanked him so sweetly for it in his mind –, because he was scared of forgetting. He was nursing the memories, the most precious thing, the only thing left.

The only thing left apart from his wedding ring. Foggy had tried to convince him to take it off, just _once_. Matt was doing it when going out at night, wearing it on a necklace instead, but when he had once done it outside that routine when meeting a client, a panic attack had him forget how to breathe. She had kissed his forehead then when he had returned home, whispering that it was alright, that she had forgiven him for the moment of confusion and weakness. He hadn't done it since, only protecting the ring under his armour when punching people.

Maybe it was a quirk of fate that he had gotten shot multiple times just a few alleys over from the electric store where she— she- God, she had just gone for a walk, stepping into the store for a baby monitor, because _'not everyone has super-senses, Matt'_, _Christ,_ just a stupid pair of muggers that had gotten a hold of a gun, twitchy finger, stupid timing, stupid place-

"I'm sorry, am I bothering you?" the beautiful phantom complained and Matt quickly returned his attention to her mouth, something much more pleasant to think of. She was here now, like always. Always waiting for him to come into her loving arms.

"No, my love. I'm so happy to be here with you. It feels like heaven," he admitted quietly, causing her lips to curl up in a smile against his.

"Well, I always thought you were more of an angel than the Devil, so it seems like you're in the right place."

"I was never sure if I had hope. But I always tried, I really did, even… even _after_, I wasn't trying to— and I wanted to, God, I _wanted it to_\- so badly-"

"Shhh, Matt. I know. But you're here now. I love you. That's the only thing that matters."

Matt clutched at her hair weakly, smiling wider as tears of relief rolled down his cheeks. It was enough in the end. It was enough.

"Yeah. We're together and we're home, sweetheart," he agreed breathlessly. "That's all that matters."

-.-.-

Tonya was kneeling by the lifeless body, her bloody hands that had been trying to stop the heavy bleeding by pressing against the masked man's torso trembling violently.

The blond girl had only heard stories about him, the old ones about the hero, the newer ones too, where he had been described as… soulless. Still one of the good guys, still running to help, but merciless when it came to the attackers, never killing, but crippling so badly that it sometimes scared the ones he saved, grateful when he left them without a single word. People were afraid he had changed, that he was just an inch from crossing the line and becoming a murderer.

And now, when Tonya finally met him to actually create her own opinion, he was dying under her hands, breathing shallow until she thought he wasn't breathing at all.

Tonya had called an ambulance what felt like ages ago, staying by Daredevil's side. He was whispering something the whole time, something too quiet for her to hear, lips barely moving. It was terrifying, being unable to help him, but what was even worse – scaring the shit out of her – was that it seemed that the man was smiling.

He was smiling when his gloved hand left his side, more blood immediately pouring out. Her hands replaced his quickly, pleading him not to do this to him. He didn't look like he had heard, his hands freeing something from under the armour on his neck, clinging on it like on a dear life until his body went completely limp.

Now, when the flashing light of a police car and the ambulance illuminated the alley, she was finally sure it was a wedding ring on a thin chain. She covered her mouth with her forearm as someone helped her up slightly, dragging her away from the body.

_Christ_.

He was married. Tonya had never really thought about the man; however, somehow without even realizing it, she had always imagined him as an old bachelor. But apparently, Daredevil was- _had been_ married, there was someone waiting for him at home. A woman, a man, a family- shit, maybe he even had kids…

"Fuck," the policeman cursed as the paramedic stated that with two bullet holes in the guy and the coldness his body was radiating instead of a vivid warm there was just no way.

Tonya sobbed into her forearm.

"Fuck, _fu_— HEY, leave the ring!" the officer exploded when his colleague reached for the metal band on the vigilante's necklace. The said colleague nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping the evidence bag he had been holding in his hand.

"But-"

"Leave it!_ Christ, four years…"_ he muttered under his breath and Tonya blinked in sudden realization.

Four years. It had been four years since the stories about Daredevil had started to change, since there had been whispers something in him had shifted, when his brutality had escalated. There had been a time period when it had even seemed he had even dropped off the face of Earth.

_He didn't have anyone waiting for him,_ Tonya realized,_ not anymore._ He had lost someone; he had lost his partner, his family, whoever they might have been. And his behaviour made so much more sense, even the soft smile on his face. Had he been hallucinating because of the blood loss? Meeting them again?

"He was smiling," Tonya whispered shakily, causing the cop's head snap to her. She gulped. "He was smiling, whispering something I couldn't understand."

She was only met with silence. She leaned against the dirty wall, looking up to heaven, noticing that the officer did the same.

"Good to know, I guess." A ghost of a sad smile appeared on his lips as he glanced at the masked man with an unreadable expression.

Tonya nodded and faced the night sky again. She felt few rain drops fall on her face; heaven weeping because of the loss, because of a good man dying. Tonya sent the guardian angel of Hell's Kitchen a prayer.

"I guess," she murmured, closing her eyes and trying to wipe off the scary picture of a dying man of her mind. Instead, she imagined a lone man, suffering for years, finally finding his peace.

She smiled at the idea inconspicuously, the rain drops serving as her tears, washing the blood off of her hands.

-.-.-

_Somewhere in Hell's Kitchen, a girl jolted awake with a scream. The man lying beside her nearly fell off of their bed, his heart almost stopping. _

Jesus._ Another nightmare. _Vision?

_His girlfriend was panting, her eyes darting around their bedroom, her hand covering her mouth to stop herself from sobbing. He recovered, gently stroking her arm._

"_Hey, Ter, you're okay…" he mumbled on autopilot, causing her to shoot him a terrified look._

"_Well, I am," she rasped, running her fingers through her bright orange hair. _

"_Vision?"_

"_Yeah. Really fucked up one."_

_Victor frowned, squeezing her arm. He knew that his warm embrace could help if Terri had a regular nightmare like any other person. But Terri was special. And she hadn't seen a random picture of terror – she had seen _the future.

"_What happened? What do you want me to do?"_

_Terri closed her eyes, tears escaping them. She breathed in and out shakily before speaking. Her voice was trembling. "For starters, stop Vera from going to an electric store to buy a baby monitor."_

_Victor's heart was breaking for the woman he loved, but now he was a little confused. "…okay?"_

"_They— they shot her, Vic, and- and she died on spot, just like- like the b-baby," she sobbed and Victor quickly pulled her into his embrace, stroking her back lightly. Jesus. This world was so _fucked up._ "A-and Matt, he—he died years after- after that and he was- Christ, he was so isolated and he fucking died in a dirty alleyway-"_

"_Hey, hey, Ter, shhh." He cradled her, her sobs loud in their bedroom, her tears soaking his t-shirt. Since when she was getting vision about years from now? Was is because it was a direct consequence of the first event she saw? He kissed the top of her head. "No baby monitor for Vera, then. It's okay. We'll stop this."_

"_H-how?"_

_Victor smiled to her hair, a reassuring smile Terri couldn't see._

"_Well, Vera stopped a building from falling on top of her fiancée – well, sort of. We can stop someone from going to a store."_

_Terri chuckled humourlessly. "Stop her from doing anything? Have you met her?" she asked bitterly, making him sigh._

_She might have a point. That girl's head was harder than a brick wall. But she could also be reasoned with. And they had an ultimate weapon at their disposal. Victor smiled wider, his voice confident in his lover's ear._

"_I have," he noted, almost casually. Terri stiffened in anticipation. "But I've also met you." _


	2. The End and the Beginning

_Terri saved Vera from getting shot in the store. Something much, much worse happens._

-.-.-

'_**Cause I am done with my graceless heart,  
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart.**_

_Florence and The Machine – Shake It Out_

**1\. The End and the Beginning**

Blood.

On her hands, her t-shirt, her jeans, everywhere. So much blood. Smeared over his face when she was holding him and staring into his empty dead whiskey-coloured eyes. In a puddle under his body. On the handprints on his chest as she had tried CPR even when it had been obviously too late.

"We'll get you out of this, I promise," said firmly despite his glassy eyes. The attorney Franklin Nelson making a promise he wouldn't be possibly able to keep. A strong man he was, defending a woman who supposedly killed his best friend.

Blood.

On her belly as a concerned and outraged citizen stabbed her twice in the courtroom for killing her own husband, for killing such a great man who had nothing but a good heart and helped those in need. On the ceramic knife. On her hands once again as she was clutching her stomach and prayed the baby would survive, herself be damned.

God hadn't been listening. The sheets were snow-white when she woke up, learning that the merciful God fucked up and she was still alive, while her unborn daughter Jackie joined her father, in heaven no doubt. Selfish, selfish God, wanted them both for himself and punished her for never trusting in Him enough.

The walls were grey and battered. It was the same, every day. Reliving the horror of life in the nightmare, touching her now flat belly with tears in her eyes, gaze lowered all the time, tasteless food, supposedly comforting visit of one or two of the variety of her friends she didn't quite register, cleaning or a different meaningless work to do, disgusting food and sleep with the nightmare to keep her tortured.

Rise, rinse, repeat.

Murderer. Killed her husband in cold blood. For an affair, supposedly.

The sheets on the examining table were grey too, maybe once the same bright colour as the hospital ones. The doctor left for a minute, learning they ran out of pain meds. The minute was more than enough and leaving the med cabinet unlocked was as if he was asking her to take whatever she wanted. So she did. She left the examining room with a syringe and a vial of morphine, wondering if God was giving her an out, navigating her to hell, because suicide was sure not a ticket to heaven. At this point, she didn't care.

Hell couldn't be worse than this.

-.-.-

She saw Foggy Nelson's amiable and sorrowful eyes as he was promising again, when someone shook her awake. She blinked her eyes open into the shadows.

"Hey. Get to the visitor's room. Now."

She ran her hand through her messy bed-hair, putting on her glasses and following the guard. She didn't check on the vial under her pillow, one she had stored that day, not wanting to give it away. But was this about it? Why would she be coming to the visitor's room in the middle of the night?

She squinted at the person sitting at the table, only illuminated by the poor light from one weak fluorescent tube. She didn't remember seeing them before. Not that it mattered, but she actually was concerned about a man in a suit having the right to… call her out of bed at night. He must have been powerful.

Her lips parted. Maybe… _maybe_ he had something to do with Matt's murder. Hell, maybe he had done it himself and now he was coming for her. The emotion that hit her at the thought was confusing – it was relief, because someone had decided to put her out of her misery; it was anger, because she was face to face with the killer of her loved one; it was utter confusion, because the man smiled at her, but not meanly, not mockingly, not quite compassionate, _somehow_.

He wasn't the murderer. He seemed nice, a little strained, but not in the way a super-villain would be. She would know. She had met a few.

"Please, Mrs. Murdock. Sit down," he invited her, beckoning to the chair at the table opposite to him.

There was one more guard standing at the door out, otherwise they were alone. If someone wanted to murder her on spot, this would be a perfect opportunity. Instead, the man in his late forties met her eyes, endless kindness in his own. It was like getting stabbed again. The addressing didn't help – every time she heard it, it was like someone was either mocking her or accusing her; this man didn't sound like doing either though.

She gulped, obediently lowering herself on the chair, her gaze aimed low as usual. When the man said nothing more, she glanced at him hesitantly; he was watching her, attentive, observant.

"I understand you found yourself in a sticky situation," he said and Vera swallowed the _'you have no fucking idea'_ that was on her tongue. She remained silent. "I might be able to help out."

_I found a way to help myself, thanks,_ she thought, her mind on the vial under her pillow.

"You've been charged with murder of your husband, found in your apartment above his dead body, covered in blood, after you called 911, claiming you found him like that and tried to save him. You have no alibi, the murder weapon had your prints on it and despite your lawyer's efforts, you'll be convicted, because lack of motive sounded like a joke given your connections to a known vigilante, who might be interested in a romantic relationship with you, just like you might be with him; a motive offers itself," he listed, voice calm and methodical.

Vera looked away, tears in her eyes. She knew all these things and she wasn't stupid, she knew exactly how it sounded. She had nothing to defend herself with. No one had. People hated her, speculated of her romance with Daredevil because of her past connections to him and some of them even suspected that the baby she had been expecting wasn't her husband's. The irony wasn't lost on her, neither on some people who knew better. No one was laughing at it though.

"Of course, if you would be willing to provide an alibi, a witness, it could save you. But you wouldn't, because you wouldn't want to bring trouble to Mr. Potter or admit you were running an errand for Daredevil, who you not only wouldn't want on a witness stand, but also physically couldn't get there, because he's not alive anymore."

Vera clenched her trembling hands into fists, tears of helplessness and hate running down her cheeks. She was used to the knot in her stomach, to numbness, to permanent pain, but this was like someone was probing the gaping hole in her. She looked at the mystery man who knew too much with hard cold eyes. He was still stoically calm, his face almost soft. It was irritating.

"Who the _hell_ are you and what do you want?" she asked simply, aiming for a firm voice and missing by miles. _Are you here to kill me?_

"I understand the difficultness of situation you are in and I want to offer you an alternative to the little solution you snatched from the medical cabinet during your last check-up."

Her breath hitched.

No.

No, no, no, no, no. That was her out. Her _out_. They couldn't— they _couldn't_ take that from her-

"You don't need to look so scared; we are not here to kill you and we won't confiscate it from you. But we might switch it," he offered with a gentle smile and Vera was utterly lost.

"What are you talking about?" she asked dully, bits of the desperation she felt showing themselves. "Who are you? What is this?"

"I would introduce myself, but I'm afraid that's classified." Classified? Who the hell was this guy? "But I'm with Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

"The what now?" she choked out, shocked. She hadn't been feeling much lately, but this was definitely shock. So he was with some… government organization? With a terrible long name?

"S.H.I.E.L.D., Veronika. I'm with SHIELD. Which is a government organization that specializes in… unusual occurrences, for example. I worked with Natasha Romanoff or Clint Barton before – they are both members."

She would appreciate he had switched to the first name basis to avoid calling her her last name, probably noticing she wasn't comfortable with it, but she was too astonished at what he had just told her.

"Spies?" she huffed a humourless laugh. "You… are a spy? And you want _what_ exactly with me?"

"You asked who I am and what this is. I am a man who is putting together a team. And this is a recruitment for the said team."

Vera stared at his small but confident smile, herself currently confused and ultimately questioning his sanity.

"You… you want to recruit me… for a spy team?"

"Yes."

"That's absurd. Absolutely ridiculous," she scoffed, no trace of humour in her voice.

"I'm not laughing. Of course, you would have to receive some training, after we evaluate what you have already learned. Like I said, I worked with agent Romanoff and Barton, I have met Captain America and the rest of the Avengers. I haven't… spoken to them lately, not about you, but I know what's up when something _is_ up. You contacted them. We got a report from your… rescue mission. We know you went undercover to take down a cult of wannabe Satanist vigilantes – a quite bold move for a civilian. You might not have all the skills yet, even though I have to admit the way you took down the robber visiting your café was impressive, but you have what it takes to be an agent. I can value personal differences. I believe every member of the team can be an asset, especially when brining something which other people don't have. So. Here's my offer; join SHIELD, be a member of my team. Help us to keep people safe from the threats they don't understand, that they can't protect themselves from."

Vera's head was spinning from the insane amount of information. From the message this man was trying to get through. What- how—_why-_

"Why?" she choked out, not having either the energy or imagination to come up with an answer by herself.

Why would he be possibly offering this to her? Sure enough, he had said why, but it didn't make _any sense. _

Then again, nothing did these days, days wrapped in a fog of pain meds, numbness and soul-crushing agony.

"I just told you. You have a potential. You were a victim of unfortunate events. You were framed, we both know that," he stated, clearly convinced. Vera didn't even feel relief at that. He must be a madman. "I'm sure your friends are working hard to prove the opposite, but you decided to end your life anyway. I'm offering you a chance to take the life you think doesn't matter anymore and turn it into something that has a meaning, maybe even in your eyes. You can start over."

"_Why?_ Why give me that chance?"

The mystery man – the_ Agent_ – shifted in his seat and looked somewhere behind her before meeting her gaze.

"…I flat-lined, Veronika. For forty seconds, I died. I got a second chance. Everyone deserves it."

They were quiet for a long time. Vera had no idea what to think. She trusted this man, she trusted him he was telling the truth, god knew why. Maybe it was because this was too crazy to just… make it up. And what would he gain if he was lying?

She was tired. She was tired of everything and all she truly wanted was the misery to end. But what he was offering… it got to her for some reason, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. She was seventy percent sure it was the man's fault (the 30 remaining percent she blamed herself being a vigilante magnet, the influence of all the do-gooders she had met too strong to ignore); he had charisma, an aura of someone who could be trusted, an aura of a truly good man with the best intentions, of someone who genuinely cared about people.

She could see his team not being a group of robotic merciless marksmen. Maybe… maybe it was something to take into consideration. He was right of course. Even if she was proven not guilty, her life was nothing. It was the reason she wanted to just… end it.

But what if she could just disappear instead? Maybe even win some… sort of a redemption? She knew her biggest sin. She should have been dead already.

"It should have been me. Dying back then," she whispered to the silent room. Her words were followed by a shrug from the man.

"Maybe. We'll never know."

It didn't even surprise her he possibly knew what she was talking about. About her friend saving her life when stopping her from going shopping. _Look where it got us_.

"What would I have to do? You said I could start over, what does that even mean?" she whispered hoarsely, closing her eyes.

The man sounded a little like he was smiling. "What you wanted to do."

She snapped her eyes open, confused. _What?_

"We would switch the vials to something less lethal, the description of the medical supply remaining the same. It would only look like you committed suicide. All you have to do is to die."

It was terrifying.

It was relieving.

She would die. The whole world would think she was dead. Her family. Her friends… Matt's friends. A clean cut. Easier to dismiss than her inexplicably vanishing from the prison. These people were no fools. It was smarter that way.

It was better for everyone.

Vera stared at the mysterious man for a full minute at least, but it was hard to tell. Time had lost its meaning a while ago.

"The… the team you're talking about. Would they… would they know who I am? Who I was?"

The man smiled at her. "No. No if you wouldn't want them to. Like I said. Starting over."

Vera took a deep breath, shaky. Did she really want this to happen? She thought of all the people who she would cause grief, but she was about to do that either way. This was just… in this case, it would be a white lie. She didn't know how they would feel about her… disappearance. She didn't like the idea of them hoping for better. God forbid them theorizing, starting with trafficking rings ending with some sort of a conspiracy. Hope. Hell, for all she knew, they might even think she was abducted by aliens, because that shit apparently happened these days.

What was even her life anymore?

Not hers, apparently.

But she could choose to end it.

"You don't need to say yes, you sure don't have to do it now. Take your time. Agent Henrick will keep an eye on you, you can communicate with him. I would appreciate if you didn't tell anyone about this. See you soon, Veronika. Or not."

She stumbled up, nodding. She followed the guard who had brought her in this room – Agent Henrick, apparently – back to her cell. They had met no one on their way.

Coincidence? With an agency that had Black Widow and Hawkeye in their rows?

Vera had been grown up from naivety for some time now.

For long hours, she laid in her bed, staring to the ceiling, toying with the vial in her hand, her mind frantic and blank at the same time.

Sleep didn't come to her that night.

-.-.-

Few nights later, few towns over, the annoying sound of an alarm from a phone woke up a man from his insanely needed sleep. They had been working their asses off, looking for evidence, questioning the false ones presented. And now he couldn't even get a proper sleep for once?

He whined, punching the phone so it would shut up at least. He ran his hand down his face, scratching his nape, his fingers catching on the knots in his shoulder-long hair. He squinted at his poster of Matrix, confirming he was at home and hadn't fallen asleep in S.T.A.R. Labs, which was a normal occurrence.

He wasn't sure if he wasn't in a movie like Matrix sometimes, it would make so much more sense, all the craziness – kinda cool craziness – around, which was just… well, crazy.

He sighed, reaching for the phone, squinting at the screen.

What he saw on it woke him up more effectively than a bucket of icy water. He sat up sharply, staring at the screen in horror, clutching his soft longish hair.

"No, no, no, no, that can't be right! No, no, no. No! This must be some kind of a mistake-" he rasped, reading the alert over and over, throwing the covers away and swinging his legs over the edge of his bed.

It was a report. An incident report from a prison. About a prisoner committing suicide. And not just any prisoner. _The prisoner._ The prisoner they were trying to prove innocent, because they knew for sure she wasn't guilty, not to mention they _knew_ her and she was a friend and—and-

"Oh my god," Cisco breathed, his throat tight, knot in his stomach tight as never before. "Oh my god."

She was dead. Vera was dead.

-.-.-

A week from the unfortunate incident in prison, a woman with bright orange hair was still crying in her boyfriend's arms. The woman was special, which very few people knew, special in a way that wasn't safe to share with random strangers. She had the ability to see the future.

"It's my fault."

"What did you say?" her boyfriend asked gently, genuinely not understanding her as she was clinging to him, face hidden in his chest, clutching his sleepshirt.

The woman swallowed a sob that was about to break her for once silent tears, withdrew a fraction and repeated herself, elaborating. "It's all my fault. That they are both dead. Well, all _three-"_

"What the hell are you talking about?" the man demanded, outraged and horrified she would even think such thing.

He tried to shift her body in his lap, but she shook her head in protest, her fingers gripping the cloth tighter. He sighed, but didn't force her to look at him, For the moment.

"My powers-" she started, instantly interrupted.

"So you didn't see it, that's not-"

"I did!" she exploded, pulling away, leaving her hide-out to stare into his eyes, so he would believe her, so he would _understand_ how much she fucked up. " I saw them die before, Vic! And I changed it – I made it even _worse_."

"Terri, what are— you _saved_ Vera's life," Victor swiftly protested, frown twisting his face; sadness and anger melting one into other, mirroring the within his mind; should he comfort her first, or disprove her ridiculous claim? Should he be gentle, or should he be firm? She had been torturing herself for so long… "We stopped her from going to the store and dying-"

"What difference does it make?! I changed the future and now they are all dead anyway, _sooner_, and people hate Vera's guts! They think she murdered Matt! Danny is playing Daredevil so we don't have to deal with the whole secret identity revelation, Foggy hates himself because he thinks he should have tried harder to get her out and it was all for nothing!"

Her fingers found their way into her hair as she clutched it in despair and she moved to stand up from the bed; Victor wouldn't let her, gripping her shoulder tight, trying to meet her gaze.

"Terri. Calm down. That's not on you. You saved her life, for Christ's sake."

"No, I didn't," she whispered, voice breaking, tears flooding down her cheeks again.

"You did. And then you couldn't. _No one_ could."

As if someone flipped a switch, she indeed froze in her hysterics, apparently considering his words… or perhaps figuring out _why _the fit had come, truly.

"…I won't even be at her funeral. Christ, I won't even get to say goodbye, because they are— they are moving the body to Czechia. Jesus- I- I miss her. Vic, I miss her so much…"

His heart breaking for his usually so chipper woman, he wrapped his arms around her to pull her back into a proper embrace; thankfully, she let him, his chin resting on the top of her head. He cradled her in his arms, tenderly rocking back and forth.

"I know, Ter. I know. But blaming yourself isn't gonna make it better. Not to mention it's a complete nonsense."

"Is it, though?" she questioned with a sigh. He could feel her head moving in negative.

"No, we haven't. Everything I saw came true."

"Vera didn't die in her apartment by that ninja's hand. Matt didn't die in the crushed building. You made so much good-" he started naming, once more not quite following her train of thoughts.

"I didn't, Vic. All I saw was Vera getting impaled, not dying. All I saw was Vera crying – which she was, when the building went down. Now, I wasn't there, but she told me… she told me she _did_ think he was dead when she saw the building explode. That's all I ever saw.," Terri explained, voice trembling with grief and something that was hard to grasp. "I've never changed anything. Until recently. And I shouldn't have. I broke the laws of the fucking universe and this is the punishment. And _they _paid the price."

Fear. The other emotion going so strongly in her voice was _fear._ She was afraid that whatever she had done was... cosmic. Which _was_ a legitimately terrifying thought.

Occupied with that idea, wondering if there was an ounce of truth in her theory, he stayed silent for a long time and so did she. But she stopped crying at least.

Victor sighed, placing a determined kiss on the top of her head.

"Maybe," he considered out loud. "Maybe you pissed off the universe. Hell if we'll ever know. But you still did the right thing. Like I said, blaming won't help anyone."

"And what will?" she asked lowly, honestly desperate for an answer.

"Time?"

Terri laughed, the sound so uncharacteristically bitter for her that it made Victor's ribcage constrict, his stomach tying in knots. "Of course."

"Sorry, got nothing better," he admitted sheepishly and she kissed his collarbone over the fabric of his sleepshirt, showing her appreciation despite the venom in her words.

"I take what I can get, I guess. But… I'm not using my powers _ever_ again. They are no good. It's not like I saw any of _this_ coming."

She didn't say anything else and neither did he. Afterall, it wasn't his decision to make.

-.-.-.-.-  
Notes:  
Time to shout YAY for for her excellent observation of Terri's powers during the Damned series :)

Also, oops I did it again. I killed Matt and Jackie :( And sort of killed Vera. I'm sorry? This fic will not have much Matt as you can probably guess…

Thanks for reading and I apologize in advance for the slow update to come; I feel like you get the idea since it's been two months since I posted the prequel O:-)


	3. The Team

**2\. The Team**

The birth of Agent Nicole Davis and the death of Vera Murdock was a long process; while the second half was a raging sea of emotions fading into nothingness, until only agonizing moments in the morning remained, the short periods of sleep blending into wakefulness, confusion of a missing life growing in her abdomen, a silent cry and unspoken words of grief and goodbye, the first half was dull and mechanic. Stereotypical.

One day like the previous one, the following one just as endless and yet fleeting in a blink of an eye. Training, studying, training. Target practice, hand-to-hand, endurance. Meals four or five times a day. Stretching. One week blending into the next one. Sundays were the hardest, the routine minus one work-out session giving her too much time to think.

With each nightfall and each dawn, a piece of Vera seemed to fade into black; or perhaps grey. Nicole – Nica, the only connection to her past – was coming, staring a new life; exciting, perfectly professional and dull. Two panic attacks was all. What they called therapy was just a fancy term for learning how to push emotions away, to push them so deep inside that they would never claw out.

Nica didn't listen to much music these days, but there were few songs that seemed to resonate too much to be ignored and work-out was sometimes better with loud music, loud enough to swallow up memories and dark thoughts of people who might be grieving the person whom Nica decided to bury.

She liked her instructors; efficient, not babying her too much. She wouldn't be able to handle kid gloves, people with whom she would feel safe enough to open up, safe enough to break down in front of. It would have undone all the hard work she had been putting into dulling herself, building up shields (the irony was not lost on her) to protect her sanity. Cassidy was her favourite despite the instructor's efforts not get attached; mostly because she was the one to tell her that the spy diet was cool and all, but the ban on alcohol was only half-heartedly meant. They spent an hour working through a bottle of vodka and the next Nica threw up twice before she got her ass to the training room; no compassion shown to her, she had suffered through a regular session. And she survived.

That was good.

Survivor's guilt was a bitch, no matter how many times she had heard of people who were proud to be survivors. Fortunately for her, most of the time, she was not a survivor; Vera took her own life, hence she could not be one and Nica Davis was practically a new-born.

People of SHIELD didn't ask where she had come from; a common practice, she supposed. She was grateful.

Letting the water turn cold, she allowed the icy needles to pinch her skin before stepping out of the stall of her lounge; a cubicle, to be honest, yet more than enough. Slipping into a t-shirt and sweats with a SHIELD logo, she lied down; exhausted, she entered the land of dreams in no time.

-.-.-

Nica was on the board ever since the unplanned extraction Coulson's team formed.

The women on the team hadn't known about her; she had been hidden in Coulson's office, as he had requested. They had had enough on their plates and Coulson wanted to only introduce her after making sure they got their two guys of agents back. It warmed her heart a little and it only confirmed her suspicion; she had made the right choice. If not joining the SHIELD_, _then trusting Coulson. He was a good man and he never left a man behind.

As much as it was dangerous for her to think that kind of thoughts, widening the cracks in her façade, she didn't try as hard to resist as she probably should have. There was just something about him, something amiable in his eyes, something fatherly…

Her phone beeped – a signal they had agreed on. She left the office, coming to the common space with the bar.

"What's going on, Sir? I thought you wanted Fitz and Ward to recover before anything else," a woman with strong British accent asked, sounding genuinely surprised – and a little accusing.

"Of course. It's not a briefing for another mission, not yet. We all need to rest," Vera – no, _Nica_, always Nica from now – heard Coulson say. She took a deep breath as she saw him entering the space. "I just wanted to introduce you to someone first – and her to you as well."

The whole group walked in, an Asian woman joining them from the cockpit.

Nica eyed them all, unsure what to do. Together with the pilot, there were five new people in total – two men and three women. She took the men in first; one of them looked a little dorky and nerdy, the other one had sharp features, fancy hair, was neatly shaven,– clearly a Bond type. What they had in common was the surprised expression, similar to the ones that the women wore.

The Asian (and Nica didn't like herself for the ethnicity being the feature she distinguished her with) was the most subtle; she was surely taken aback as well, but had learned to control her emotions and not to display them, which told Nica that she was no doubt more than just a pilot. The Brit had a scientist thing going on, reminding Nica of Caitlin from Central City. The last woman was a puzzle – she didn't look like an agent, neither like a scientist. She actually seemed to be a random person taken from college, maybe economics, IT or maybe an English major. Apart from the pilot, they all seemed to be Nica's age, perhaps three four years older.

"Nica," Coulson beckoned to her and she nodded, unable to actually smile. She remembered him being friendly from the visitor's room, but a lot had changed since then. The environment for certain, the situation overall and most importantly – her.

"Sir. Glad to see the extraction worked out well," she managed, her voice steady to her own surprise.

The college girl's, the Bond's and the nerd's eyebrows rose. The scientist's lips parted a little. The pilot tilted her head just slightly; oh god, not another person with this habit-

"Well indeed. People, I'd like to introduce you a new member of our team – Nicole Davis. We boarded her when we were at the Hub, where she finished her training. Just like all of you, I picked her, she's not someone who's here against my will. Nica, this is Agent Melinda May, Agent Grant Ward, Doctor Leonard Fitz, Doctor Jemma Simmons and Skye. Welcome on board," he said with a reassuring smile, beckoning to each of the team members.

Nica tried very hard not be intrigued at the fact that _Skye_, was the only one who had no title – she had been _right – _nor she had a last name.

Ignoring that came easier that she would expect.

"Thank you, sir. Nice to meet you all," Nica added politely. "I know… I know I'm joining late, but I'll try my best to fit in."

Unsure 'Hi's, 'Hello's and 'Nice to meet you's sounded from her new colleagues. Nica tried a smile to show that she wasn't a complete enemy – not that she wanted to make _friends –_, but she didn't quite succeed.

"Alright. That would be all, people. Nica, can I have a word with you in my office? I promise you won't have to go here for a while after that," Coulson asked her with a light joke in his voice and she just nodded, spinning on her heels and heading back to her hide-out.

She heard the ones left behind talking quietly.

"Whoa, who is she?"

"Like I said, a new member of the team," Coulson repeated while another male voice said: "An Ice Queen, if you ask me– wait, you were serious?"

Nica sighed, leaning against a wall. _An Ice Queen._ Well. Interesting conclusion. Perhaps that would be for the best for them to think, though she wasn't sure how could she come across as that.

She had been nervous, that much was true. The way she was and the way they shortly trained her… it was something completely different. The training was closer to the Ice Queen. She hadn't fought it, to be honest, welcoming it in fact. She had recently cut off everyone she cared about from her life and she wasn't sure if she wanted someone else in her heart. Probably not yet and possibly never, because getting attached to an agent, or any member of the team, since there was a high risk of losing them – just like she had lost Matt and-and Jackie…

Bad, _bad_ idea.

"She is calm, collected. If she'll be like this all the time, maybe even able to separate the personal from the professional, there's nothing wrong with that," one of the women commented and Nica was sure it was the pilot. _May. _

Nica was nearing the office now, their voices fading.

"Oh, _is_ there a piece of _personal _in that machine left?" another woman questioned and since it wasn't the British one, Nica assumed it was Skye.

"Enough," Coulson stopped the speculations. "Ward, May, come with me please."

The three of them entered the office only a second after her. Nica turned to them, slightly curious. She had no idea what Coulson wanted with them. He closed the door behind them, putting in a barrier between them and the prying eyes and ears outside.

"So. I'm aware there wasn't much info shared. I believe you can do that yourselves, just like with the rest of the team. Why I brought you here is because I would like you to help Agent Davis to adjust," Coulson explained and Agents May and Ward didn't dare to comment just yet, only staring. "She spent the last few weeks at the Hub and while she has no experience as a SHIELD operative, she's been in a team before… in a way. She had no standard training apart from her time at the Hub. Ward, I know you're already a superior of Skye, which is why I'm asking May too – but she has enough to worry about on her own. So that's why you two. Train together. Help her study. Suck her in. Please. Will that work?"

Nica was too taken aback to answer that question; good that it seemed t be aimed rather at the superior agents, who reacted swiftly.

"Of course."

"Sure. I'll try my best," Ward agreed, giving a sharp nod.

"Good. Nica? Any questions?"

Nica took a deep breath, eyeing her new supervising officers. Well. This should be interesting. _Two of them? _Bond-boy and the pilot who appeared to be approving of her Ice Queen attitude?

_Will that work?_

She had no fucking clue. Then again, she knew nothing, ever. Less so these past months.

"No," she retorted, hoping her nerves and doubts didn't show. "Thank you, Sir."

"Okay. Dismissed." They all nodded, slowly leaving the office. Coulson's voice caught Nica in the doorway as she was the last. "And Nica?"

Her heart didn't skip a beat despite not expecting the addressing. She turned to face him once more.

"Yes?"

"Get some rest. And welcome to the team."

"Okay. Thank you, Sir."

She was closing the door when a realization dawned to her. As much as he was her boss, he truly acted a bit fatherly and when she went over everything that had happened since his infamous visit in—_there,_ she only began to realize how incredibly intelligent and caring the man in front of her was.

"Sir?" she blurted out, causing him to look up from his computer, no a hint of impatience in his expression. "Sorry. Uhm. You didn't want me to stay in the Hub because you thought I needed a lot of training before I joined the team, did you? …you wanted me to come to terms with my decision to join."

Coulson's lips curled in a barely visible smile, but his amusement and satisfaction dripped from every word that followed her claim: "You just answered your own question."

Nica bit her cheek to stop her own smile coming – when had been the last time she felt the urge to _smile? – _and nodded, finally leaving him in peace.

-.-.-

As the door of the office clicked behind May and Ward, the three remaining members of the team stared at it, still processing.

"So… was that a yes or a no?" Fitz asked hesitantly, honestly doubting this strange person had any _person_ left.

"I think that was definitely _yes, there is_. And _don't stick your nose into this _on top of that," Simmons noted, eyeing Fitz and Skye.

"So… we're staying out of this?"

"Nope," Skye replied, determined. "I'm gonna look into our new Ice Queen. She could put May into shame. I'm not sure if I'm scared… or impressed."

"Coulson didn't say she was an agent. But we picked her up at the Hub. He gave us literally nothing about her. How are we supposed to trust her?" Fitz complained, fully supporting Skye's idea.

"Well, Coulson does, I think. He did pick her. From... wherever," Simmons remarked, speaking in the tinniest bit of favour of their new teammate. Honestly, she felt a bit sorry for her.

Did she feel a bit uncomfortable about digging in Davis' past behind her back? Yes. Was she curious about her though? Hell yes.

Skye raised her index finger, a smile lightening up her face. "You think she's something like me. A civilian. He didn't pick her from SHIELD agency.He _recruited_ her. Nice, Simmons!"

"I have my mome-" the scientist froze in the middle of the sentence, noticing the pair of agents leaving the office. "Ward! How did it go? What did you learn? May?"

May rolled her eyes, walking right into the cockpit, completely ignoring Simmons' questions and the curious looks from all of them. Which left Ward with all the expectant eyes on him.

He raised his hands in defence. "Nothing."

"Come on, _teammate_. A little something. You want to tell me Coulson called you in there to silently shake hands with her?" Fitz pried dryly, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ward set his jaw tight, looking over his shoulder. Davis was still standing in the half-opened door, talking to Coulson quietly. "I'm her super. So is May. That's all."

"But you're _my_ super," Skye noted, a little wounded.

"Which is why she has May as well."

"Two supers? That's a little suspicious, don't you think?" Fitz questioned.

"There is something fishy about her. And I'm gonna find out," Skye announced firmly.

"Look, guys— if you want to know something, ask her. Or let her share on her own. I'm not saying I to trust her right away, but I didn't trust any of you when I met you. We should trust Coulson on this one. Now hush. You look suspicious."

As if he predicted it, their new teammate finally closed the door and glanced at them as if she could hear them. Then, she unmistakably headed for one of the cubicles, shutting the sliding door without speaking another word with them.

"Yeah," Fitz noted, once more sarcasm incarnated. "She looks very willing to share."

-.-.-

Nica was restless, rolling over in her bed, vainly chasing sleep. It was pointless; her mind was buzzing, her body itching to work out or dull her thoughts.

She had got used to the physical activity; more so in the training centre, where several times a week, the sessions were even twice a day. She didn't get any proper work-out today – there was no time. The fact that she found herself in an ultra-modern jet that could make itself invisible did not help her to calm enough to fall asleep, meditation techniques doing shit for her.

She_ needed to_ let the pent-up energy out. It appeared it was time to give the training area a test drive.

She needed to clear her head. She needed to clear her chest. She needed to turn off her heart again.

_Leave the emotions behind. They are dangerous. When you feel, you freeze. The split second of you hesitating can mean the difference between life and death. Yours. Your teammate. A civilian. A kid being held hostage._

God, Nica _hated_ the last example the most, but she had to admit it was the truth. Seeing a person aiming a gun to kid's head was an image out of a nightmare, one that would easily make her blood run cold, her muscles lock in place; and that lost moment could have been the only chance she would get to rescue them.

She would fail then. And every kid would have Jackie's face.

_Find a switch. Hell- cry, scream, punch things, knock your head against a wall – but do that after the mission. Lock your emotions away when in the field. _

_Lock your emotions away. _

There had been a time when she had been training or having a fit-box lesson and she would remember an advice or two from Matt – how to move, to be stronger, to be faster. It had always helped her, a little secretive smile on her face as she kept going.

Now, working out was something to switch off Nica's mind to absolute blankness. No more Matt's advices; all of his voice was replaced by sharp orders from the senior agents at the Hub and they tended to shut up soon enough. Thump, thump, duck, thump, kick, thump, thump, kick, thump, thump, dodge, thump, thump, kick-

"Impressive."

She just sneered as she kicked the bag harshly enough for the chain to cry out a tear-earing sound and she didn't make an effort to look up to the male voice which rang above her head.

The fact that the gym of _the_ _Bus_, as Coulson had called the plane, served as a garage too, was fucking weird; but not weirder than the fact that someone could watch her from a small platform above her. It gave Nica a distinct sensation of being a caged animal in a zoo and that did _not_ feel good at all.

She was not a subject of some experiment to be watched like that, someone sneaking up on her; which, _fuck it,_ she should have noticed him. So much for her training.

"Anything I can help you with, Agent Ward?" Nica hissed, unimpressed.

"Just checking out my new teammate's skills. I need to asses it to know what to expect in the field," he explained flatly, descending the metal ladder until he was on her level.

"Then maybe you should have asked first. Plan a session – with everyone. I'm sure they'd love to _asses _me as well," she snapped back, unable to contain her emotions at the moment. _Dammit_, she really had been hoping for a piece of peace and this Bond-boy was _truly_ getting on her nerves.

There was something about him that felt sketchy but that could only be the fact he had an air of a frat boy who loved to show off dominance. Also, his dark hair and dark eyes, his physique reminding Nica of M-

_No, nope- don't even go there, don't you dare._

_Lock it away._

"Is that your way of kicking me out? It's not just your space. I'm not leaving."

She punched harder and threw another clipped response.

"…is that your way of offering to be punching bag?"

"Sure. Just an upgraded one. The one that punches back."

"_Sweet._ But not what I need right now. So be so kind and get your super-agent ass back to whenever it came from," Nica retorted, but despite herself, she gave him a slightly desperate side-eye. _"Please."_

The Agent sighed, crossing his arms on his chest. "That's not exactly a way to make friends, you know. I used to be like you, but this team-"

She huffed a bitter laugh and ceased her punches in order to look him straight in the eye, brutally honest.

"I'm not looking for friends, Agent Ward. I doubt you do as well. There's an air about you. You're calculating. You're looking for a friendship of convenience," she said, revealing her opinion way too easily to her own liking.

Perhaps she should have kept it to herself (her tutors would be so disappointed in her, giving away her precious ability of reading people, her trump card, so early on), but she couldn't help it.

Something about him just rubbed her the wrong way and she had no desire to hide it from him since they were supposed to be working together. She didn't even feel sorry, honestly didn't wonder if her frankness might hurt his feelings.

She continued when he only arched an eyebrow in the subtlest way. "I'm looking for work acquaintances with mutual respect, who can co-exist on this jet and be civil. Right now, all I have for you to say is 'get a clue and leave me the fuck alone'."

The brunet raised his hands in surrender, a smirk playing at his lips despite an odd glint in his eye. Nica didn't miss the hint of something dark crossing over his face, disappearing as quickly as it appeared.

"Alright, fair enough. Just saying – you seem decent fighter enough. I'm excited for a hand-to-hand session with you."

Nica huffed again. "You really need to work on your excited face then, Agent Ward. See you later."

_And I would prefer 'see you never'. Too bad we can't always get what we want. Life would be so much easier if we did._

She punched a bit harder when she realized he was her SO and there was even lesser chance of avoiding him than she had thought.

-.-.-.-.-  
_Notes:  
I'm really sorry that it took me so long, more so since it was – for a big part – an introductory chapter, but health's been kicking my ass. No, not the way you think; dizzy spells, actually, a lot of dizzy spells, and with a baby nephew in the house, well…. Hopefully, the next one should be coming sooner _


	4. Loss of Wreath

_* loss of wreath is a literal translation from Czech – it means the loss of virginity; by extension, the process of doing something for the first time; _

_This one is really long and for a big part follows s01e08 The Well. I don't plan to follow the episode in much details, make plot on my own too – obviously -, but this opportunity was way too good to pass up._

-.-.-

**3\. Loss of Wreath**

"I can't think of a single time when anything alien in human hands ended well."

Nica couldn't either. It was probably because she hadn't _been_ around for any alien shit; certainly not thousands years ago when people of Asgard – _aliens – _ visited the Earth and gave the origin to Norse mythology, but not even for the infamous battle of New York, which she had once been informed of as of a terrorist attack, only to have her bubble shatter.

Admittedly, when Nica had joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and had been told that Coulson had been putting together a team to examine some unnatural occurrences, she had no idea what to expect.

Working through a piles and piles of rubble post-aliens' last visit was certainly not it.

Oh yeah. She found her ass in London, where an epic battle of some supposedly good aliens including an Avenger known as Thor, the God of Thunder, with supposedly bad goblin-faced aliens had unfolded. And left a ton of material for them to go through to avoid some alien artefacts falling into the wrong hands.

Just another Tuesday for the team, apparently. Not so much for Nica, but crouching by one of the smaller piles of rubble, hands protected by thick leather gloves, she held up another piece of metal and used the spectrometer – something upgraded by apparently genius Fitz to detect alien traces – to analyse its composition. In other words, she kept her mouth shut and rolled with the situation at hand.

"I wouldn't mind getting my human hands on Thor," Skye's voice snapped Nica from her musing and she couldn't but roll her eyes. When the battle had still been on, the quinjet with the team on board on the way only to arrive late, Skye had put Thor's picture all over the monitor just in case someone hadn't seen him yet. And to reward herself with se eye-candy as she had stated. She would return to the subject of the God over and over since then. "So dreamy."

Nica would possibly agree; he was ripped, eyes bright and yet somehow wise, a majestic figure with the whole iron-like armour and the cloak, but she was more concerned about the fact that the guy was an alien, could summon lightning and at the given moment had been destroying a significant part of London.

"Sure, he's handsome, but-" Coulson sputtered, but May – the person Nica liked the second best so far, because she didn't ask any unnecessary questions and didn't feel the need to fill silence with meaningless babbling unlike _someone _– interrupted him.

"No. He's _dreamy."_

Well. Apparently, Nica lost the last ally in not caring or at least attempting not to. _Awesome_.

But what was even more awesome? Agent Boss Coulson announcing that the Bus was taking off immediately…

…to check out vandalism in a national park in Norway.

Despite herself, Nica's eyes flickered to Skye's as they were boarding once more; the other woman shrugged, but gave her an excited grin that caused the corners of Nica's lips curl up on instinct before she caught herself and looked away.

She would swear she heard Skye sigh, but to her own surprise, no comment was made.

Perhaps Skye was slowly understanding that her undying enthusiasm was not necessarily contagious nor it was desired. Good.

Was it though?

-.-.-

Hours later, Nica, Ward, Simmons and Coulson finally reached the point of the supposed catastrophe; a tree cut down.

To be fair, the trees in the national park remembered thousands of years and some piece of a jerk had made some serious damage, damage that hurt Nica in her soul, because being back in Europe in the woods_,_ reminding her of her _home- _that was a trial itself. She tried her best to shake off the familiar feeling and more so, the longing.

She snapped back to the present when she noticed Jemma hesitating at the bottom of the said tree, few ropes securing her as she was about to climb several metres up; due to the proximity of other trees, the top of the trunk was leaned against them, indeed needing to be _climbed_. Simmons didn't look very happy about it, but to Nica's surprise, Ward stood by her side, soothingly speaking to her, his voice gentle and purposely distracting her.

Huh. Perhaps Nica had read him wrong. Perhaps he wasn't that much of a calculating dick, bad-boy leather jacket aside. Only time would tell.

She made her way to the pair, scanning the surroundings of the fallen tree. There were many splinters there, some truly only enough to pierce the skin and annoy the hell out the poor bastard getting it, some were actual chunks of wood.

Deciding to examine said witnesses of the catastrophe since the actual breathing one stuttered and refused to speak to her, too anxious to talk to a young woman and preferring an experienced-looking _male _agent, Nica made her way to the mess, one cautious step after another, because for all she knew, these chunks of wood could be alien too.

It wouldn't surprise her. Nica doubted that _anything_ would surprise her at this point.

"Some of these trees are thousands of years old," Jemma chatted distractedly, minding every step, her eyes flickering to the ropes securing her from time to time.

"How old exactly?" Ward coaxed her into further speaking and the scientist obliged happily, sounding truly excited and intrigued.

Nica tuned them out when a peculiar object caught her attention; more precisely, something that looked like an _imprint_ of an object, as if… as if inside of the tree had been a home to some sort of a staff with strange ornaments. Careful not to touch it, she sidestepped it and looked up at Jemma, who was still walking up.

Nica cleared her throat, hoping not to frightened the Brit.

"Uhm, S- Ward?" she called out in the end, opting for the person _on the ground._

The pair eyed her.

"Hm?"

"You think this would help us?" Nica asked nonchalantly, pointing her thumb towards the remnants of the tree.

Simmons smiled at her brightly as she reached the part of the tree from which the chunk apparently had been cut off.

"It will certainly give us a more complex picture. Wonderful."

The complex picture – read a hologamic 3D model – indeed showed them a staff upon sending scans to Fitz on the quinjet to create a simulation.

And they didn't have to look too hard for information on said staff; it apparently gave the people carrying it supernatural powers; powers of Gods, as they themselves called it while ruining whole towns and tearing through authorities standing in their way. And lastly… yesy it was of alien origin.

Well. So much for nothing surprising Nica today.

Apparently, it was time to deal with gods. Nica guessed that next time, they might actually deal with Thor himself. Afterall, the staff was Asgardian; and according to dynamic duo Fitz-Simmons, it was still missing at least two pieces.

When Nica had joined the Bus, no one had warned her she would be moonlighting as Indiana freaking Jones.

-.-.-

On their way to Seville, a heated discussion went on, one as old as time; science versus magic and higher power.

Simmons, seconded by Fitz with barely noticeable reluctance, stubbornly argued on the behalf of science. They were the Nica's ideas of nerds in love with their subject.

May and Ward rolled their eyes.

Naturally, Skye was super-excited at the idea of a magic staff and until recently, Nica would eat the stories up with nearly as much enthusiasm.

Now though… she had met people who were given powers by a dark matter from a particle accelerator, heard about the multiverse and Earths vibrating at different frequencies hence not seeing each other and she had—she had once known a man who-

Nica stopped that train of thought before she could get to thinking about other chemical- and fate-related superpowers or to wondering whether she had done something to piss off the higher power mentioned, to rob her off of-

Her musing was luckily interrupted by Coulson, who announced just why they were heading to Seville – to meet an expert on Norse mythology, one Professor Randolph.

Nica guessed that it answered the unspoken question about which side their boss was on.

Joining Coulson and Fitz-Simmons in visiting the professor, she had to admit she wavered again; once he started talking about an army of Berserks, the most powerful warriors thanks their uncontrollable rage powered by staffs of which the pair of self-proclaimed Gods had probably found a piece, Nica couldn't help falling into the trap of myths again.

She was purely enchanted as the tale was nothing short of fascinating and despite her best efforts, her mind wandered to the only place she truly didn't want it to go; to Matt. Upon touching one part of the staff alone – _Thor forbid –_ the whole thing, the fighters were overtaken by the darkest anger and Nica… she couldn't but wonder it that happened to Matt whenever he put on the mask, the armour, taking his own equivalent of the staff – his billy clubs mainly – to his hands.

The direction of her thoughts caused her throat to close up enough for her to nearly choke and she quickly chased her mind away from those stupid parallels. Clearing her throat, she asked the logical question: "What happened to the warrior from your story?"

The professor smirked innocently. "He fell in love."

Well, shit, so much for distractions. Wasn't it what happened to Matt? Didn't he… soften around the edges, even when in vigilante mode, whenever she was around?

_Fuck this. What did I do to deserve this shit for my first mission? _

Nica blinked away the tears threatening to spill, not missing the side-eye the professor gave her, his head titling to side a fraction. Meeting her eyes, something resembling compassion reflected in his irises and Nica swiftly averted his gaze, glaring at the picture of the staff instead.

"With whom?" Simmons asked softly, for the first time showing more than a scientific interest.

"Humanity. Life. So much that he didn't want to go back to Asgard with the rest of the army and stayed. To prevent his weapon falling into the wrong hands, he broke it into three pieces."

_There we go._

"I guess the writing wouldn't happen to say where it is?" Coulson said, more of statement than a question.

"Actually, there _is _something," the professor opposed, reaching for a book from one of the tall piles scattered all over his office.

All he offered them though were three verses. Not that it wasn't romantic and mysterious and all, but seeing as they were trying to stop a crazy Norse pagans' group, something more specific would come in handy.

"I was hoping less metaphors more latitude and longitude, to be honest," Coulson admitted truthfully, voicing what all of them were thinking.

Once more, the professor grinned. "Well, it does stand reason to look into old Viking routes. They might be helpful."

And with that, their private class was dismissed. Nica didn't miss the strange glint in professor's eye as they were leaving his office.

Perhaps she should have paid more attention to it _and _said something, before part of the team went to catacombs in the very town they happened to be to search for the artefact, ran into someone and it all resulted in cars flying through air as if they were nothing but a football ball.

-.-.-

"I swear, I only wanted to be the first to analyse the staff and prove that the Berserkers were _real,"_ the professor explained.

Momentarily locked up in one of the interrogation rooms in their custody – because he was trying to snatch the second part of the staff for himself, only to have it stolen by their nemeses from Norse pagans – he was much less smirky.

It would have been comical even, if it wasn't for religious fanatics playing Gods, smashing everything in their way, and for Ward being attached to several machines monitoring his body functions, because he had touched one of the pieces of the staff found in the catacombs and very much stolen by their enemies.

Good news – he was conscious, still breathing, his heart beating, no blood outside its usual place involved.

Bad news – his heartbeat was accelerated, there had been a short period of time when he _had been _unconscious and on top of everything, he was sputtering curses (and words that were simply _delivered_ as curses) in an incredibly irritated way.

Nica jumped when he suddenly ripped his arm from one of the circular monitors, literally growling, while Simmons was only asking him about his symptoms in the most calming voice.

"What did you remember?" Fitz asked matter-of-factly and Nica's brows furrowed.

This was the first time she heard about the contact with the artefact causing a certain memory to resurface. This day just kept on giving, didn't it?

Simmons shut the live-feed from the interrogation room, earning a murder glare from the injured agent who had been watching.

"What the-"

"Your adrenalin is spiking and-"

"So WHAT?" Ward grinded his teeth, leaning forward with a clear menace in his voice. Scratch that, in his face too, in his whole _posture. _He seemed ready to snap something – or _someone – _in half.

"The memory…" Skye whispered with zero effect as everyone heard her, "was it… was it about your brother…?"

Ward's eyes narrowed in warning. "Drop it."

"Because if it was, you can tell me. We can-"

"_Talk?"_ Ward questioned mockingly, scoffing and leaning closer to her this time. Skye instinctively retreated few inches, watching him with wide eyes. "Because that's what you do. You talk. And _talk. _Don't you ever get tired of your own _voice?!"_

Skye backed out completely, hurt casting a shadow over her expression.

Nica, on the other hand, found herself stepping forward, easing her arms from their previous position crossed on her chest, so she could interfere if Ward's unacceptable behaviour – top asshole one – escalated.

"Well, that makes much more sense," Simons quickly interrupted the fight in the making. "What you're experiencing, it's chemistry-"

"I hope so," Skye muttered, scanning Ward – still _shirtless, by the way,_ something Nica might have feast her eyes on, hadn't it been for Ward being an utter and complete _jerk – _from head to toe.

"Yes, spikes in adrenocorticotropic hormone-"

"-stimulating his adrenal glands. Cortisol. Adrenalin. He's extremely stressed," Nica interjected, for a second surprising herself. She wouldn't think she still remembered that; guess they really had tortured them in physiology classes.

Seeing as everyone in the room – Fitz-Simmons duo and Skye mainly – shot her shocked looks, she wasn't the only one taken aback by her lasting knowledge. Ward was just irritated more.

"Yea-yeah. Yes. That's… correct," Simmons stuttered, her eyebrows raised, but a pleasant smile on her lips, "it's like those stories where mother is able to lift a car to save her baby-"

Right. Adrenalin. Nica had her own experience with how much it could fuel a person. And she knew it both from herself and from… from-

Why was it always that her brain found a way to go back to remembering her _very dead_ husband?

"Stop _talking,_ just fix this!" Ward thundered, stalking towards the poor scientist and Nica took another step forward along with Fitz.

"I wish I _could. _We can release some of the symptoms," Simmons tried to coax Ward, a vain effort, apparently.

Symptoms? Like _assholness?_ Nica couldn't say she was surprised at his behaviour; whether he touched some staff or not, whether his hormones were all over the place or not, she was now certain she had judged his character right the first time. She didn't think anything would help to _fix_ him.

"I'm going to give you some benzodiazepine-"

"Oh… good idea," Skye uttered with slight irony to her tone, observing Ward with wide eyes, shock still written all over her face as she probably couldn't believe what she was witnessing.

"A sedative?! _Not_ gonna happen!"

Ward went to pace through the lab, shaking his head, while Fitz spoke up again.

"Be reasonable, look how you're behaving-"

Ward's head instantly snapped to Fitz who dared to call him out, crossing the distance between them in two long strides, towering above him menacingly, poking him in his sweater-cladded chest.

"Yeah? And if I'm sedated and we run into those juiced freaks who flip cars, who's gonna stop them, huh? You? You're gonna keep us safe? Or am _I _gonna have to save Simmons' ass? _Again?"_

The utter betrayal and hurt glistened in Fitz eyes, his whole body shrinking into itself, and Nica had just enough.

_Oh, no you don't- fuck YOU._

"Hey, that's enough," she paced to them, stepping between the pair, grateful she didn't have to look _that_ high to meet Ward's eyes; brown ones, full of rage, almost familiar and yet so strange. "If you don't have this _whatever _in check then you wouldn't be much of use-"

A mean spark flashed in his irises, his eyebrows jumping.

"Oh? Because you have your shit together, don't you?" he chuckled darkly. "Acting all tough and in control like you're not hiding away with us, running from your past, from something breaking your poor softy-soft heart. Did you cry when it happened? _Like a baby?"_ he mocked.

A smirk forming on his lips- a picture of a baby-bump, her hands coated in blood- on her belly, on Matt's torso, on his face, _everywhere, _sickeningly clean grey room, bright burning lights, a vial to save her from her misery- she _had_ to resist this, she _had to_ hold his gaze, not to show him just how _deep _he cut, but she couldn't, her eyelids sliding shut, a shudder running down her spine as her chest suddenly felt tighter, her breathing nearly impossible. She couldn't _breathe, _she was _drowning-_

The scoff he released was, shockingly enough, her lifeboat; and she climbed up to it eagerly, hot rage filling her veins, freezing cold replacing it in the shortest of moments as she found her centre, as she found a way to swallow it all.

Her eyes snapped open, finding that smirking asshole still in her very much personal space. Her chin rose, inching closer to his face.

"You know what, Ward?" she challenged in low voice, attempting to show him that this conversation was over and these would be the last words exchanged. "Go fuck yourself. Might help you with that stress you have piled up."

As his nostrils flared, she side-stepped him, her boots clapping into the stunned silence like a sad applause as she left the lab and headed straight towards the interrogation room, changing direction the last moment as she met with Coulson who was just exiting it.

He spared her a curious glance and Nica could only imagine how she must have looked at that moment, not ready to face him at all.

In the distance, she heard the lab door rattle as Ward left shortly after her, his steps echoing through the hall as he headed to the garage slash gym, probably in search for the punching bag.

Too bad there was only one room where they could train; Nica sure as hell was not about to spend an extra minute with him, no matter how much she needed to hit something.

_Too bad_ she couldn't hear Skye's utterly confused and awed voice filling the whole laboratory after they both made their leave.

"What the hell just happened?"

-.-.-

What just happened was that Nica missed their precious Norse mythology professor being outed as a thousands-of-years-old Asgardian.

Well, shit happened sometimes.

The important thing was that the prof- the _alien, what the fuck- _ was about to help them find the last part of the staff. _His _staff_._ Which was currently in Ireland in an old monastery; 'near God,' as one of the verses claimed.

Nica had a bit of a hard time to take it all in, but there was no time to spare as there was a growing group of religious juice-freaks fanatics looking for the last piece as well. And judging by the fact that the staff was not on its place by the time the team got there, they had been _faster._

Before anyone registered what was happening, one of the crazy men emerged from behind a door and impaled their resident alien on the very staff he had been master of.

Nica felt the breath being knocked out of her chest as if she had been the one having their heart pierced.

For few terrifying beats of her own frantic heart, nothing moved and images of a different body lying on the floor in a pool of blood flooded her brain, her stomach turning and aching at the memory of herself getting impaled on a katana, stabbed by a ceramic knife passing through the safety gates of a courtroom. Her ears felt like filled with cotton, taste of bile on her tongue, burn of tears in her eyes.

And then Ward moved, grabbing the fragment of the staff, causing it to glow and rip an animal-like growl from his throat. The next thing Nica knew, two people were flying down from the small balcony they had been standing on, the railing breaking.

"Ward!" Skye cried out, jumping to her feet, swiftly followed by May – and by Nica, who instantly forgot her wobbly feet.

Rapid footsteps down the stairs echoed through the room, drowned in the rattle of the furious fight involving _church_ _pews _in air and being broken on someone's back. Nica gulped when a huge piece of wood – bigger than her _head – _flew past her as she tucked Skye down simultaneously with May.

A body of the powered man hit the door with a thud and crack, then fell to the ground and stayed still.

The plea on Skye's lips was barely audible as everyone turned to the entrance where several people burst in; 'Please stop, this isn't you' fell on deaf ears as Ward picked up another part of the staff with a guttural roar.

Nica's heart stopped at the sight of him.

_This_ was how she imagined the literal incarnation of the Devil being let out. And she had seen things before, scary things, raging men, villains, vigilantes, religious fanatics.

May pulled Skye backwards, herself rising along with Ward. Nica easily followed him towards the door despite her own weapons being only her fists and a pair of regular billy clubs shoved in her leg holster.

In all honesty, dread filled every inch of her being, every freaking cell, because she was about to face some really, _really _pissed off people, possibly super-powered. But it was what she had signed up for… sort of. More importantly, she couldn't just stand back and _watch._

Gripping her batons tighter, she released a shaky, yet determined breath.

It turned out she didn't need to move as much as a finger. The rapid staccato of brutal blows from the staffs in Ward's hands took care of _everything. _His breaths coming shorter and shorter, hair dripping sweat, furious expression flashing through a desperate one, their opponents – _his_ opponents – were falling one after another.

Until finally, he dropped the two fragments of the staff to the ground, falling to his knees which gave out under him. Nica, being the closest one at the moment, sprung to his side, catching his upper body before it met the floor as well. _Christ, _he was _heavy._ And really drenching in sweat. He was going to be dehydrated among many, _many _other things, she was sure.

"Ward? Ward!" Skye fussed and Nica, ignoring the slight smile that was trying to crawl on her lips at the obvious _friendly_ care, cleared the field for the other woman.

It was the exact moment when three more of the group rushed through the doorway, taking in the scene in front of them.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Skye strained through her clenched teeth and Ward made a pathetic attempt at crawling after the weapons he had dropped.

May's fingers curled around his wrist. "This time, let me _help,"_ she said calmly, with authority Nica wouldn't dare to oppose.

Exchanging a glance with Nica, Agent May inconspicuously raised a corner of her lips and beckoned to the simple billy clubs in her hands.

"I'll get one of those too, what do you say?"

As the only woman who had entered carried a piece of the staff too, Nica understood that _this one_ was May's. Which left the two remaining men to her. It seemed she was about to get her wish to punch something fulfilled.

She really hoped that their powers were wearing off quickly, otherwise she was in for several broken bones; the guys weren't _huge_ per se, but if they had some freaky super-strength like she had just witnessed with Ward-

The blonde woman passed Nica as if she was air, throwing herself at May, who grunted when she picked up her weapons. With a deep breath and eyes on her own opponents, Nica tuned the noise of the fight behind her out.

After that, it was pure instinct.

_Duck to avoid the hook. Aim for the knee. Spin and hit the head—if blocked, go for the ribs. Elbow to the back of his head when he doubles over; push kick the one behind her. Baton to the head again until he's down for good and finish the other one. How? He scrambled to his feet from the fall to his ass, groaning, but throwing a hook at her. Knock his blow down, then the other – predictable –. Uppercut-like swing of the baton. Another push-kick. One more blow to the side of his face. Ignore the blood that isn't hers. Watch him drop, still mind her surroundings. Duck when—_

Nica barely ducked as the body of the blond woman was thrown in her general direction, May majestically standing there with a complete staff in her hands, looking like she just finished a warm-up. The agent slowly lowered the staff to the ground when her enemy didn't get up again, meeting Ward's tired exhausted eyes. They exchanged a silent nod.

"You are the single most beautiful thing I've seen in thousands of years," the professor's raspy voice sounded from above them from the balcony.

Nica blinked, relief settling in as the _alien _lived through getting fucking _impaled_, and checked once more on everyone on the ground floor.

All of the fanatics stayed down.

Good.

-.-.-

"Tempted?" a male voice rang above her and she winced, swiftly looking up from the complete _magical _staff lying on the floor.

It was a new day, the humidity and heat of Seville crawling into the church where the sun danced in the still settling dust.

The cleaning service of S.H.I.E.L.D. had arrived, momentarily in the process of arresting the members of the group, strangely large metal cuffs secured around their wrists, clicking shut and lighting up.

Nica felt the exhaustion seeping into her bones and muscles, adrenalin wearing off, her gaze _magically_ enticed by the abandoned ancient weapon.

Now, the alien prof was standing by her side and she rose to his level, having been snapped from her thoughts. She shook her head in denial, probably easily seen through.

"What is it you hope you'd see?" he questioned, eyes searching and uncomfortably knowing.

"Nothing, professor… if I can call you that," Nica couldn't but have a dig at him. He released a sound resembling a snort and scoff at the same time. "I was just wondering how can a piece of metal light up and make someone so furious… wondering how chemistry would explain that one."

He saw all through her hastily made-up lie.

True to be told, she could imagine a piece of metal making _her_ lose her mind and it wouldn't even have to be ancient or alien.

A ring. _Her wedding ring,_ one she had left behind.

"Well... you seemed torn between trusting magic and trusting science. Where I come from, there are the same thing. The need to fight… it's fuelled by grieve or by anger, and sometimes, one can be the same thing too, mingling so thoroughly we can't tell the difference anymore," he mused, hypnotizing her, thousands of years of knowledge, of _loving humanity,_ dancing in his eyes and Nica knew… Nica knew he understood, that he understood more about her than anyone on her team perhaps. "Touching this thing… nothing good comes out of it. That anger, the grief, that _rage_… it feeds on the darkness deeply hidden, it consumes your soul and when it boils over, it's-…"

_It's like letting the Devil out._

"-nothing pretty," Nica finished easily instead, giving the professor a tight-lipped smile. "I saw."

_More than once._

He shrugged, surprising her by backing out. Nica realized why, once she heard Coulson behind her shoulder.

"That's one way to put it. These guys are here to take it somewhere where it will hopefully be safe," the boss announced and Nica nodded, taking her leave as two men with a long black suitcase approached.

Just before that, she spared the professor one last glance, finding him giving her a once-over, finishing at her face and meeting her eye.

Yeah, he definitely knew more than she was comfortable with.

She just hoped that Ward, having his Hulk moment earlier when calling out everyone including her on their bullshit, had been simply improvising and in fact knew much, _much_ less.

-.-.-.-.-  
Notes:  
Thoughts anyone? Next time I'm planning a cameo of someone who didn't appear in AoS, leaving the canon timeline; once again, I simply had to bring _the person_ in, too tempted O:-)


	5. Fate's a Bitch

**4\. Fate's a Bitch**

Despite Ward's rather sincere apology about his outburst in the lab, Nica couldn't find herself warming up to him fully. Despite Skye's numerous attempts – and wasn't she just endlessly hopeful and positive – Nica didn't befriend her either. Working with May was easy enough; getting the job done, silent mutual understanding exchanged through one look… Nica considered her a salvation.

Coulson appeared to be the toughest one; his ever-present fatherly advices, his support and dedication to his team as if they were his children, his family, which included Nica now, his knowledge of her past… that was making things difficult for her. She found it harder and harder to keep her distance and while she didn't take pride in it, she granted him a glimpse at her inner turmoil once in a while. He gave her no reason not to trust him entirely after all.

Fitz-Simmons, being the odd pair of friends potentially crushing on each other, were the last pieces of the mosaic of the unlikely team. They were much less insistent than Skye, but they tried… sometimes. In Fitz' case, it was mostly calling NIca out on her Ice Queen attitude.

The façade of an Ice Queen did stick. Nica showed emotion as little as possible, leaving them for when in private, and even then, she was pushing them away, not allowing herself to be hurt and weak. She knew that if she lapsed once, she would enter an endless vicious circle of misery, self-pity and… thoughts on the ultimate solution to her problems. She _couldn't_ do that. She simply couldn't.

No one knew apart from Coulson and even him, he didn't know the half of it. For the rest of the team, she was a rather cold and efficient agent, who somehow found her place on the team, yet never really fitted or cared. She didn't allow herself to care, yet she could feel her teammates getting under her skin, crawling into her heart and finding their space in it. The more she felt, the more she hid it on the outside, burying her true feelings in. She tried not to worry about their whispers and Ice Queen remarks and told herself that they didn't bother her.

It worked pretty well. She held her own quite alright she thought, her defences rather solid.

The first break in her walls came unexpectedly. Of course, she couldn't know that beforehand. No one knew what future held – not really – and honestly, Nica wasn't sure what she would do, had she found out about the team-up with another task force ahead. She'd probably jump out of the Bus.

Without a parachute.

-.-.-

"Sir, I don't understand. Are you saying we are going on a mission without you?"

They were all gathered in the debriefing room if they could call it that, staring at Coulson with confusion when he told them the news. It was Jemma who expressed her concerns.

"Exactly."

"Why? We're _your_ team. You're the leader," Skye stated unnecessarily, earning raised eyebrows from Coulson, May, Fitz and Simmons. The corners of Ward's lips twitched as well, while Nica fought to keep a straight face. It wasn't a secret Skye wasn't one to follow orders and respect authority. So that coming from her… then again, Coulson seemed to be a good influence; he truly had a way of bringing out the best in people.

"You'll be working with a task force. Another team. Their commander will be yours as well," Coulson announced and this time everyone stared at him downright _baffled_. "You know how it goes, two authorities who might end up disagreeing, that's never good."

"What kind of a task force?" May asked dryly.

"STRIKE team. You'll be in good hands, the best hands, to be honest. May, you're second in command."

Nica would swear Ward's breath hitched, while May's eyes widened.

Also, Fitz and Simmons squeaked.

And Nica prayed her brain was just not cooperating at the moment, was mixing things up; Coulson didn't say what he said, right? Because that would be… bad. Nica had read about the STRIKE team during her training if she remembered correctly. And she recalled who the leader was; or at least led several of their missions.

She opened her mouth for Coulson to prove her theories wrong, but Skye beat her to speaking, sounding curious and excited.

"What's the STRIKE team?"

"Special Tactical Reserve for International Key Emergencies," Ward informed her, making half of the team roll their eyes. _Show-off._

Coulson just smiled widely. "Exactly. We'll be arriving at the Hub in few minutes. May, please, take the pilot seat. I need to do some quick packing. Debrief dismissed."

With those words, he spun on his heels. May exited the room as well and Skye measured the rest of the team with a questioning glance.

"Alright. Mr. Walking Encyclopaedia told us what the abbreviation stands for, now someone wants to explain what does it mean for us?"

Jemma smiled at her, awe-struck, still in disbelief. Nica was suddenly uncomfortably certain that her assumption hadn't been wrong. Which was a terrifying thought, because that meant they would-

"It means that we will work under the command of Steve Rogers."

Well.

_Fuck._

Nica's heart jumped to her throat and she had a truly hard time to let it go unnoticed. She probably failed too.

Skye gasped, her eyes shining with enough excitement to power a small town for a week. "You don't mean like… _that_ Steve Rogers, right?" Jemma just chuckled and nodded hastily. "You're _joking._ Are you saying we're meeting Captain America? _Holy shit!"_

Nica couldn't say she shared her enthusiasm. In fact, she was _horrified_.

She needed to talk to Coulson. About sitting this one out.

-.-.-

For all she had an undying trust in her boss, she considered his decision an utter betrayal; Coulson had not complied with her wish.

"Nica… I understand this might be hard for you, but if the only fear you have about working with him concerns your identity, I assure you he will be subtle. It's not like he's gonna track anyone to tell them about you," he spoke coaxingly, yet with enough authority to assure her he wouldn't budge. "He's a soldier. He's working with S.H.I.E.L.D. This kind of intel is classified and he knows that. You'll be fine."

Nica considered herself a realist. There was a fat chance he wouldn't even remember her. However, _she_ remembered all to precisely what the circumstances of their last meeting was – and God, didn't it feel like ancient history – and they were making her sick to her stomach.

"But-"

"You'll be _fine._ Trust me."

At the time, she might have been feeling like throwing up, but she swallowed the bitter pill. Now, with the STRIKE team entering their jet, Steve Rogers in a _subtle_ dark blue suit with a star in the middle of his chest, she felt more like she couldn't even breathe in and her head started spinning.

She thought she might actually faint as the group of eight more men in tactical gear stopped in front of them in the debriefing room and unlike with Jemma, Fitz, Skye or even _May_, it was not because she was just that star-struck.

_Please, __**please**__, don't let him recognize me._

"Captain Rogers, I'm Agent May. This is Doctor Fitz, Doctor Simmons, Agent Ward, Agent Davis and our consultant, Skye. At your service," May introduced them swiftly and he gave a firm nod at each name in response.

Nica allowed herself to release the breath she was holding when he didn't pay her special attention, didn't linger with his gaze. It didn't seem like he recognized her.

_Why would he? He met you _once_. The fact you threw yourself on him, because he agreed to help you save M- Daredevil and the little fact that he carried you when you got shot wasn't as special to him as it was to you. He was used to that kind of shit._

Well, Nica was slowly getting used to that shit too. What a fucked-up turn her life had taken.

"Agents, Doctors… Ma'am," he added, clearly unable to come out with a better term for Skye. Nica's stomach made a somersault upon hearing his firm voice. Soldier indeed. Professional. She remembered his voice being rather coaxing, but that had been under quite different circumstances. There was no reason to treat her in kid gloves now. She found herself grateful for that. "A pleasure. Agent May, if you would set the course to 41°23'N 2°10'E and then join us. We need to be on the move."

"Yes, Captain."

If Nica didn't know better, she would think a brief smile appeared on Captain's lips as if he could sense that Miss Always Cool And Never Bothered was a bit nervous around him. It must have been just Nica's imagination though, she thought as they all boarded and headed to the debriefing room.

"Shall we start? Can we?" their temporary leader asked, beckoning to the monitor and the desk.

"Of course, Captain," Skye hurried, immediately starting the tech, holograms appearing.

"Thank you. Rumlow? The files?"

A dark-haired man with few days' stubble stepped out and shoved a flash-drive to the slot. A map, blueprints and personal files on their targets immediately filled the space and Nica blinked when she noticed where they were heading.

_Well,_ she thought bitterly, _maybe this time my__ Spanish lessons are about to pay off._

_Bienvenidos a Barcelona_.

-.-.-

The meeting took almost an hour. Now the agents of STRIKE team were shuffling away with the members of Coulson's team as their guides, Nica herself having two agents on her tail—and that was when it all finally went to shit.

"Agent Davis," sounded behind her as she was leaving and she stopped dead in her tracks at Captain's voice. She gulped before turning around to face him, focused on keeping a straight face.

"Yes, Captain? How may I be of assist?" she asked, desperately trying to keep her voice even as her heart started hammering in her chest with enough force to try and break through her ribcage.

A coincidence. _It's just a coincidence, no need to panic._

"A word, please."

Nica could feel everyone who heard them burning a hole into the back of her head with their glares as she nodded rigidly, unable to quite look into Captain's eyes.

"Yes, Captain," she replied dutifully as everyone else exited the room, her previous pursuers finding a different victim.

To be honest, she would rather leave with them to show them the bathroom or the secret stash of alcohol he had recently discovered than talked to Steve freakin' Rogers.

The door made of reinforced glass clicked shut and she was left alone with him, face to face with her past, hoping with her whole heart it was not the case and Steve Rogers picking _her_ to have a word with was a pure coincidence. Judging by his searching gaze on her face, sharp and brilliant blue eyes examining her, it was probably a fool's hope.

"Vera?" he whispered questioningly and she couldn't help it. She winced, no matter how much she tried to stay composed and keep her cool.

She could immediately tell he noticed, because his eyes lit up with recognition.

_FUCK._

Her mouth felt suddenly too dry and she closed her eyes to escape the disbelief written all over his face. Sakra, sakra, _SAKRA-_

"How-"

"Ca-captain Rogers, I—" she stuttered, her throat squeezed in a vice of emotions she was desperately keeping at bay; she was a _professional,_ she had buried Vera Murdock, she- what did it even matter to him that she was with SHIELD now? "I would appreciate if you wouldn't call me that name again. My name is—my name is Nicole Davis. I am an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Whoever you might have met-"

"I heard you were dead," he accused her, incredulous, and actually sounded a bit wounded; all that while speaking in low voice.

Hearing that emotion in his tone, softening the commanding voice, she blinked in surprise. Did he… care? It wouldn't be such a surprise, after all Natasha Romanoff _had_ saved don't-say-his-name from the induced comma he had been in and they _had_ sent and invitation to the Avengers for the wed-

_Alright, stop the train of thoughts right here. The thought of him caring is ridiculous anyway. He's a virtue incarnated; he just doesn't like lying._

_Yeah, you keep telling yourself that and look into his baby blues that are gazing at you as if you were an old friend who betrayed him. _

"As I was saying-" Nica breathed out, her voice shaking, "whoever you might have met, she is dead. It wasn't like she had anything to live for."

She raised her gaze to his face hesitantly, meeting with sea of blue full of compassion.

Oh. Uhm… _oh._ _Christ,_ her own eyes were burning. She wouldn't cry, she _wouldn't, _she didn't need his damn compassion, she didn't his goddamned _pity—_anyone's pity, that was why she ran, why she became someone else, why-

"I… heard. I'm truly sorry. My condolences."

Nica's throat went tighter, tears stinging in her eyes with more intensity. _Don't, don't, DON'T-_

"Thank you, Capt-" she shut her mouth, unable to escape the cage his stare locked her in, remembering that he had once asked her to call him something quite different. To address something he was showing her now. She owed him to reciprocate the gesture. "Thank you, _Steve."_

A tiny sad smile appeared on his lips and despite everything, Nica couldn't help but notice how handsome he looked, alluring even, with his expression softened like that. The last time they had met, she had been too busy to take a proper look or to care; now, the circumstances were even worse. However, the swirl of emotions in his eyes did something to her gut. She could relate to Peggy Carter alright. He was quite a looker and she wasn't talking his serum-pumped body… only. She would fall for his eyes alone. She always was a sucker for pretty eyes…

Nica quickly shook the strangely familiar feeling off, guilt replacing it for having such a thought in the first place in her position. _A widow. A failed mother. A dead woman walking._ People like her didn't get to move on, not that she truly _wanted to._ But gosh, unable to help herself and taking in other man's attractiveness, hell, his _beauty?_ _How dare you._

_Focus._

_He's your boss too; act like it._

"Can I just know…" he took two steps in her direction, his hand – the one closer to the table, not the one easily visible from behind the glass – brushing her forearm in attempt to comfort. Nica's breath got stuck in her throat. What was the last time some touched her this way? Other than being punched? What was the last time she experienced a gentle touch, _tender_ even? Coulson was wary of touching her and she had spent some time with him already. "The cover-up. The- in the prison-"

Her heart stopped at the unspoken question and she knew _exactly_ what he was asking, not even surprised by how much he knew anymore; she just didn't want to answer and finally managed to lower her gaze. She couldn't tell if it was because she was ashamed in front of him, in front of a man who always fought and never gave up, or in front of herself.

"_Very close to reality,"_ she said breathlessly, barely audible.

She immediately knew he heard her, because his fingers curled around her wrist, grip growing a little stronger before loosening again. He didn't say anything and she could _feel_ his silent judgement, crawling up her skin. She reluctantly looked up, expecting the same emotion written all over his face. It genuinely surprised her she couldn't see a least trace of disappointment.

No, his eyes watched her intently, soft, an honest smile playing in one corner of his lips as he squeezed her wrist once more and let go.

"Then I'm glad you're here, Agent Davis."

Nica inhaled shakily, few tears escaping her at last, rolling down her face. She let them, but stopped the flood that threatened to follow. She managed a little grateful smile.

"Thank you, Captain Rogers. Am I dismissed?"

He nodded, his face closing off a little, becoming more guarded; the commander's face back in place. His voice felt like Captain America's too, gravely, when he spoke again.

"Yes, Agent Davis. Get some rest."

Nica couldn't tell what exactly caused her to reply the way she did, but if she could take a guess, it was his eyes, a strange twinkle to his irises, the last traces of… almost a _personal _connection in the captain persona that had been put up again.

"_Gracias, jefe," _she said with her best effort to sound Spanish, the foreign language tasting bittersweet on her tongue.

Steve's raised eyebrow and the _subtlest _hint of a lopsided smile followed her as she left the room.

-.-.-

Nica assured all of her weapons were in position. Gun in the holster on her right leg, billy clubs in the left one. Two switchblades in strapped to her belt. Tactical suit zipped to the limit; yes, that was a concern too, because when that thing was loose, it turned into a nightmare – she didn't need to offer her opponent anything to grab on her. It was one of the reasons she had her hair cut, not quite boyish, but definitely not her fairy-like hair reaching her shoulder blades.

The rest of the team – their momentarily _large_ team of eleven agents plus their captain – seemed to be caught in the same process. Nica would be lying she wasn't impressed and rather horrified at the rifles at STRIKE's disposal; Ward took one too as did May, but Nica blatantly refused. So far, she hadn't had to shoot to kill and she sure as hell didn't plan on it; she was perfectly fine with slowing people down and knocking them unconscious then.

The STRIKE guy handing out the rifles raised when eyebrow when she shook her head, a mocking glint in his eye as he gave her a onceover.

It honestly and genuinely _pissed _her _off._ Great. A chauvinist. Just what they needed. She _loved_ working with dumbass guys with patronizing approach. Now Nica was sure he had reasons to brag and be a _tiny bit_ smug since he was on the top squad, but _still._

She couldn't help it; she shot him a smirk in return.

"I'm more of a hand-to-hand kind of _girl_," she said simply, purposely emphasizing the last word, colouring it with irony. "Not much I can do with this when they get close."

He scoffed, but turned to the others; finding no one else in need for the weapon, he went to put it away.

When he had to brush past her, he slowed down, whispering in a barely audible voice that made her stomach somersault in the worst way.

"I know what _I'd_ do if I got close to y-"

"_Gibbs!"_ a strict voice with icy edge made Nica look up, straight to the steely blue eyes on their pair as if their owner had heard the suggestive line… which he possibly could. Nica swallowed at the thought, while _Gibbs'_ shoulders squared, his posture straightening as he turned his head to his commander. Captain's glare was drilling a hole to the agent's forehead, an unspoken threat hanging in the air as everyone in the room froze. Steve's voice softened just a fraction, still menacing. "If we could all _focus_ on the mission, that would be splendid."

Gibbs nodded curtly and continued his path, the rest of the room remaining motionless for another five seconds. Nica exhaled and closed her eyes, mentally thanking and cursing Captain Rogers at the same time. Right, because more attention on her was just what she needed. And looking incapable. She _knew_ he was as disgusted at the remark as she was, but dammit-

Still, when she opened her eyes again, she found his gaze and nodded minutely. He looked away, but one corner of his lips twitched.

"Alright, team. Let's get this done, so we can go back to our usual business. Stick to the plan. Be each other's eyes and ears. Something goes sideways, we all need to know about it to move on to plan B. Everyone clear?"

The echo of 'yes, sir' filled the garage, Skye's and Fitz-Simmons' voices ringing in your comms. They were securely in the debriefing room, ready to support you without potentially getting shot at. Nica was caught between envying them and pitying them, to be honest. Momentarily strapping a parachute to her torso, she was more leaning towards the envy.

With one last glance at his team as Skye informed you on approaching the targeted building, the captain hit the button to open the exit.

Nica couldn't wait the moment her feet would touch the ground. Too bad she had to experience a few seconds of free fall before that and pull the ripcord handle at the exact right time otherwise she'd splash on the roof.

Yeah, she definitely envied them. Why only had she refused to catch the ride with Ward? Oh right, she _hated_ when someone was patronizing her and like this, she wouldn't be. What a comfort that would be to her when they'd have to scrap her from the concrete.

With a deep inhale, she followed her team and took a leap of faith into the void.

-.-.-.-.-  
Notes:  
I wonder if you got a hunch when reading the line '…jump out of the Bus. Without a Parachute.'

Let me know what you thought… even if it's something in the lines of 'you just can't help yourself, you Steve freak, can you' ;) I promise he's important tho ;)


	6. In the Limbo

_Ha, no, the title does not refer to Nica actually splashing on the concrete as she thought she would. Have fun. I surely did when writing. It's extremely long, disgustingly so, don't expect another any time soon :D _

-.-.-

**5\. In the Limbo**

Nica's head was spinning, air coming out in raspy short breaths – every single one of them hurting like hell –, she tasted copper in her mouth, one from the blood dripping down in a trickle from her hairline and she saw next to nothing, darkness seemingly closing around her vision with each terrified beat of her heart.

She supposed she deserved that. For that stupid quip at Gibbs and her fake self-confidence, for ever thinking she could pull this _somehow_, even if it was only to run away from the prison of her previous life. God, she had been so fucking stupid and this served her right. This was how she was going to die.

Had her comms been still in work, had she had a chance at survival, she would start her mission report like this, letting her imagination go wild, going back years and years when they were learning how to write a narrative in a goddamned elementary school. _With my heart in my throat, fear of the fall and the landing stealing my breath, I jumped out of the jet, leaping into air… _Yeah, that sounded about right.

Good news? She hadn't ended up a puddle of tissue on the concrete roof as she had originally thought she actually might.

Bad news? Twenty minutes or so into the mission, she was most definitely pinned _under_ a block of concrete, that thing heavy as fuck and feeling like it was crushing every bone in her body to dust and turning her internal organs to mashed potatoes with beetroot.

She really needed to control her imagination and get her head in the game.

Was there any chance at winning though? Because Nica was willing to bet all of her money that she was bound to lose.

She had no superpowers. And for all she knew, there was nothing but pain in cards for her, even if she got out. What was the point in trying?

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," a voice echoed through the dusty ruins of what once had been a warehouse, a haunting exasperated whisper reaching Nica's ears over the sounds of dripping water, crackling electricity and … thuds and beats of her own heart.

She blinked her eyes open, her mind fuzzy and buzzing as she couldn't even begin to hope to put a face to the strangely familiar voice. She was met with a sight of a barely lit corridor, if it could still be called that, and squinting, too tired and too scared to even move her head to try and follow the voice, she focused on identifying it.

Her throat burned, dry and scratchy and she attempted to cough, tears spilling as sharp pain shot through her shoulder and her torso, her ribs _screaming_ with agony. Her gaze trailed along the broken block of concrete, both of her arms trapped under it as well, her left one more than the right one.

Nica was fairly sure there was a metal bar pierced through her shoulder, one sticking from the concrete, but she wasn't sure, barely able to tell which part of her body hurt and the light was too poor, few rays barely getting in, to actually see it. She was terrified to as much as shift in her position, because if her spine was damaged too, then one move could mean that the pain might go away while her consciousness would remain; and lying there paralysed until the death took her, now that was just too much of a sickening image and a nightmare coming true.

Fucking _shit._ Forget voices, maybe that was the angels – or the gatekeepers of hell – calling her. Just fucking take her already and make the pain go away _along_ with her consciousness-

"You know what? I'm really, _really_ pissed at you right now," the voice grew louder, as if the woman was coming closer and for whatever godforsaken reason, Nica strained her neck, turning her head a bit to the left so she could see her- and her heart positively stopped at the flash of orange hair, seemingly glowing even in the dark.

Nica's lips parted in shock, more drops of coppery taste hitting her tongue and she swallowed them in order of the two incredulous syllables leaving her lips.

"…Terri?"

Vera's former best friend only raised her hand in a wave as a sarcastic greeting, something between a scowl and a smirk forming on her lips.

And all Nica could do was to stare.

-.-.-

The mission was to retrieve a dangerous virus and blow the whole building to hell; nice and easy, Skye had commented. Nice and easy indeed – the only hiccup was that the warehouse slash lab was supposed to be guarded adequately to the danger the virus posed.

And damn, it was.

The moment the first pair of feet touched the roof, loud alarm blared, alerting the whole building on a presence of an intruder and not even five seconds later, a company in the form of several armed guards arrived.

They were no match for the excellent shooters of the STRIKE team, nor for Captain's shield. Nica felt a bit awkward for not being able to do much with her preferred stun gun, but hey, she believed her time would come… and if shit hit the fan, she could always use the _proper_ gun she carried for the worst-case scenarios.

The guards were down before they could even register what was happening; they weren't the trouble. The fact that they lost the element of surprise was.

Still, they proceeded as planned, Nica with Ward (yes, _Ward, _but it could have been much worse, could have been Gibbs, Ward at least knew his place most of the time and he _was_ Nica's SO after all), May with Gibbs, Rumlow with Diaz, the captain with Shaw if Nica remembered the names correctly, and so on, so on, always in pair to have each other's back.

With a subtle motion of his head, Ward beckoned to the roof entrance and they both ran towards it along with another pair of agents – Diaz and Rumlow. The rest of the team used hooks to rope down and enter through windows; the shatter of glass was the last thing Nica paid attention to before diving into her own fight, fully focused on herself and her _teammate. _

Upon entering he building, it was painfully clear that the riffles were necessary – their opponents were armed to teeth and Nica only had Ward and the others to thank to that she had her job much easier. Shots were fired in rapid pace, four men falling to the ground at instant, groaning; Nica jogged, following her teammates lead, punching the yet conscious gunmen in their face to finish the job, except she used her beloved billy clubs.

Nica's heart already hammered in her chest despite the little physical effort she had to put in so far, her breathing coming out heavy as Ward stood at the corner of the corridor, peeking over to check if they had safe passage.

One swift gesture and they broke into a run, weapons ready for the case of more of the welcoming committee arriving in the next second. Nica gulped, subtly eyeing the gun in her holster, but refrained from drawing it just yet; as much as she might dislike Ward's personality at times, she trusted him to be faster than the guards, had it been foolish perhaps.

Quickly ducking the moment she spotted a movement in front of them, gunshots ran in her ears as her teammate indeed pulled the trigger in superior speed, taking the three more guards down with Rumlow's and Diaz' help.

Had Nica been exaggerating, she might even say this was a vacation for her… one that was about to end in 3, 2, 1…

The corridor divided now, Nica and Ward coming to the right while the other pair continued straight ahead; both of their miniteams, Charlie and Echo, had been in charge of the first cellarage, each from a different staircase to locate the lab faster. With a tiny nod, they separated.

Nica switched to the gun involuntarily, ignoring the unpleasant feeling in her stomach; god, she would pick hand-to-hand over a gunfight any day and time.

"Hand-to-hand, huh?" Ward hummed lowly, giving her a side-eye for the briefest second.

It was enough – a black figure emerged behind the corner and Nica's first instinct was to grab Ward's sleeve and pull him down, the bullets swishing above their heads.

Before she could take an aim, Ward's riffle went of several time, sending the guard to the ground.

"Yeah, _hand-to-hand,"_ she hissed, rising to her full height, her pulse pounding in her ears.

She didn't check if Ward had the decency to look guilty and fully focused instead of teasing her. _Real bad timing, man._

Gun raised, eyes slightly narrowed, she hurried to the corner, relieved when they reached the stairwell without more trouble.

"_Down," _she uttered, Ward's head instantly snapping up as he surprisingly followed the claim she had no right to make; Nica heard him firing two precise shots as he checked the space above.

Meanwhile, she glanced down over the railing, almost cheering when she didn't have to use the gun.

Her joy was short-lived; two men in tactical gear reach the bottom of the stairwell, shouting out when they spotted her and she gritted her teeth, quickly pulling the trigger.

Her victim winced as the bullet hit his shoulder, his grip on the gun loosening, but not entirely. She quickly fired another shot, this time to the thigh—

And she was lucky as hell that Ward pulled her away before the bullets fired by the other guard hit her square in her chest. Partly hidden by the other set of stairs, partly covered by Ward's broad figure, she was safe from that angle. She swiftly turned around to check if there weren't any more shooters approaching from the very hall she and Ward had come from.

Her breath caught in her throat when three men emerged and she was forced to shoot again, her arms beginning to tremble the slightest with the force of the recoil of her gun and she had zero time to actually aim for something non-vital.

God, god, god, she _hated this,_ what was she even doing here-

"Come on," Ward jerked his head to side, jumping to his feet to jog to the men and knock out the ones Nica didn't… _kill. _Which was, surprisingly, everyone she had shot at. Well. Good for her, she guessed.

Or not.

She didn't have time to ruminate now.

Rushing down the stairs side by side then, Nica hated how the walls changed from grey to clinical white, illuminated by red glow of alarm lights.

She turned her back to Ward, checking the stairwell leading to other basement level, slowly walking backwards as he led them further.

"_Anyone has the lab?"_ Captain's voice rang in Nica's ear and she winced, her itchy finger reminding her she needed to switch her emptied magazine for a full one; yes, she had already shot that much. _Fuck._

Ward, hearing the tell-tale sound of her reloading the gun, replied for them. "Echo negative."

"_Charlie negative,"_ another voice responded, followed by several more, some later than others as they probably had their hands full.

_Awesome, _Nica thought sarcastically.

They moved through opened automatic door – _thank you, Skye – _continuing their path and reaching an area where several doors lined the corridor.

Jackpot?

Without any warning, the door on Nica's right flew open, three armed men bursting through.

Her gun was knocked out of her hands before she could react, a hiss escaping her lips at the impact of a sole; she did dodge the hook thrown at her though, swiftly jabbing the underside of the man's knee and kicking backwards with her left, satisfied when it hit the other guard's calf and at least fazed him if the grunt he let out was anything to go by.

A crunch sounded above her head, probably Ward throwing a punch to the third guys face, then another and her knee guy was sent stumbling backwards, probably hit by an elbow. She kicked his ankle and he fell to the ground, giving her enough time to draw her billy clubs.

One of them collided with his temple before he could react.

"_We have eyes on the package."_

Nica couldn't even indulge in the triumph sounding in her ear.

A hand grabbed her hair, but it only lasted a second; a crack echoed in the corridor and Nica could only guess that Ward incapacitated the guards' elbow, because the grip on her loosened.

Free, she turned around and slashed at his abdomen, causing him double over; Ward delivered the final blow, the guy's limp body hitting the floor.

"Thanks," she muttered as Ward handed her the gun previously lost.

"Pleasure."

"_Retrieving package now."_

Nica instinctively sent a smile Ward's direction when she heard the good news.

The very next second, she was sent flying sideways when one of the seemingly unconscious men at her feet grabbed her ankle and yanked it his direction.

The world tilted so fast that it made her head spun and she toppled to the ground, landing on her shoulder and arm, barely resisting the urge to slow the fall by her hands and break a wrist.

Sharp pain jolted through her leg, warm coil tying in her ankle as Ward promptly stooped on the man's arm to release her and knocked him out properly. The vice around her ankle loosened however, the pain lingered.

Nica experimentally tried to roll her ankle, gritting her teeth when she felt the resistance, her body preventing her from causing herself more pain. Fucking _dandy_.

"Can you stand?" Ward asked her, frowning, leaning forward to offer her a hand.

Nica huffed, gratefully accepting the help, purposely laying more weight on her right foot and propping herself onto a wall to maintain balance.

Ward's frown deepened as he scanned the corridor, still keeping an eye out for a potential enemy.

"Doesn't look too convincing, Davis."

"No shit," she muttered, spinning and leaning her back onto the wall fully, breathing through the pain.

Her heart jumped to her when she caught a movement with the corner of her eye, reaching for her weapon. "Ward-!"

He drew a gun at incredible speed, catching one into his shoulder, the other one to his thigh, effectively slowing them down enough for her to stretch out and fling one of her billy clubs to the thigh-guy's head, making him drop like dead.

It took Ward one more shot to get the other one down as he paced to him and knocked him out too.

Nica released a breath she didn't realize she was holding, glancing the direction of the stairwell which the team had arrived from; it appeared in such distance now. Should they be heading back when the others found the virus or should they search the rooms? Because the idea of hobbling to the stairs on one foot made her spectacularly uncomfortable, but definitely less than the image of her limping through the different room in a blind search for something vaguely interesting.

She didn't have time to voice her thoughts.

Another three guards emerged from their escape route and Nica couldn't hold it. It was getting real old. Just how many men was here if they _kept coming_ at them? Only the two of them? How were the other teams then?

"Fuck _me-"_

She gripped her gun and the remaining billy club as Ward rushed back to her side. _Pull the trigger. Lash the billy club. Dodge as much as you can while still leaning onto the fucking wall. Shoot. Check surroundings. _Automatic, like a machine.

Nica panted, feeling sweat drenching her attire, closing her eyes while Ward stalked to the guards, dismantling the newcomers' weapons.

Out of blue, the alarm blared through the halls, loud an intrusive, nearly tearing her earbuds—and the next thing she registered was Ward's shout before she even opened her eyes-

She snapped her eyes open to be met with a sight of the door – the very much reinforced door that had been opened – sliding shut and cutting her off from her SO.

"-ca!"

"What just happened?" their captain shouted through the comms, voice sharp as razors.

"_You must have triggered another alarm, probably the one protecting the container with the virus. It's a complete lockdown! I'm _working_ on it!" _Skye retorted, the echo of her fingers rapidly running over the keyboard proving her words right.

"_We have another problem though," _Fitz announced, sounding nothing short of ominous._ "The walls? Lined with wires that have no business being there – mainly around the lab. Our readings show explosives – the walls of the lab have C4-"_

"_What-"_

"_Self-destructive mechanism so no one could retrieve the virus, probably-"_

"_Diaz is locked out, repeat, Diaz locked out in the lab-"_

"_I can see a countdown. I can only guess that this will blow up in minute and half-"_

"_Opened the roof access and the entrance on the ground floor, working my way through-"_

Nica was listening to the mess over the comms, Rogers, Skye, Fitz, Rumlow, Diaz, one shouting over the other and with each word, the panic was rising in her chest, suffocating and preventing her from moving.

"_EVERYONE, OUT! Who else is locked away behind more than the mentioned entrances?"_ the Captain asked and Nica gulped, still supported by the wall as she wobbled towards the reinforced steel of the door separating her.

A minute and half.

There was no way, probably not even if she hadn't been locked out. She could barely walk.

Gnawing horror took over her whole being, images of walls shaking in explosion, fire and burning pain swallowing her whole, burying her half-alive if even. Every muscle in her body strained with panic, icy fear of death consuming her for several seconds, paralyzing.

"_Alfa good."_

The clinically hollow sentence snapped her back to reality.

"_Bravo good."_

The wild surge of emotions froze in time and she imagined it as a sheet of paper with messy scribble, non-sensical and useless. A pair of hands in her mind crumbled it up into a ball and threw it away. She breathed in.

"_Half of Charlie locked out in the lab-"_

"_Forget about me, I'm not making it out," _Diaz' voice whispered over the channel and Nica squeezed her eyes shut as two thuds from the other side of the door echoed through the corridor.

"_Not a chance. _Everyone_ gets out, Skye, keep trying to override the system. Delta?"_

"_Good."_

Nica felt the wave of nausea twist her stomach, but she had realized what she had to do the moment her emotions left the party.

The mission was the virus. The lab had priority. There was no scenario in which Skye could override the system everywhere. The priorities were cleared up. Nica raised her hand to her left ear, ready as the dread she attempted to bury filled every cell in her body.

"_Echo?" _

"We're good,"Nica said simply, her response followed by three loud thuds and a shout from the other side of the door.

She took the last wobble and punched the steel too. "Get the FUCK OUT, WARD!"

"NO!"

"_Foxtrot?"_

"_On our way."_

Nica hit the steel with the backstrap of her gun repeatedly, sliding to the ground, her ankle throbbing as she put the lightest of weight on it.

"GO!" she yelled, only one more thud being her answer, followed by silence.

Apparently, Ward came to his senses – rather one agent down than two.

"_Nica, I can see your position,"_ Skye's voice rang in her other ear – through a secured private channel. _"Why the hell did you reported-"_

"Lab has priority, get Diaz out of it now!"

"_Multitasking!"_

Nica growled in frustration, cold shiver running down her spine, her head feeling like splitting open with that single word. Splitting attention was the worst thing Skye could do now! She needed to focus and _fuck_, Nica didn't want to _die_ but any means, but she swallowed the fear, pushing it away as quickly as she could.

With a beep, the door slid opened, just ajar, causing Nica to yelp in surprise, her stomach flipping over all over again.

Mission or not, once suicidal or not, the fierce will to live took over as she slipped her palms to the thin space, pushing the door for wider crack. And wider, propping her healthy leg onto the floor to use it as leverage, gaining more momentum.

Thank God, she would fit there now- she scooted closer, using her hands, relying greatly on her right foot as well. She wiggled her way through the narrow space, panting, her ankle throbbing as it brushed the steel. Her path was clear except for the few unconscious bodies scattered over the floor.

With a grunt, she pushed herself to her feet, crying out when the muscles and tendons in her left leg screamed.

Setting her jaw tight as she leaned onto the wall – was this one lined with C4 too? – she stepped forward. Light pressure on the left and quickly jump with the right.

Left and right. Left and ri-

The ground shook under her feet, throwing her off balance, a deafening roar making her scream. Her palms jerked up to cover her ears, her body curling into a ball and swiftly back, because she was still _in the building,_ she had to- she must—a sharp pain cut into her side, sending her from her position to lie on her back and then-

Then there was nothing but a blissful darkness.

-.-.-

In the following silence of few seconds, Nica realized that she indeed was dead; because there was no way, _no way_, Terri, Vera's best friend, the very much civilian best friend, was in Barcelona in a warehouse that had gone boom.

Before she could point that out or to think about it further, the mirage spoke up again, sarcasm dripping from her voice as it was gradually earning volume and sarcasm.

"Yeah. _Terri_. You remember? Terri? Used to be your bestie? A bestie, who was really, really fucking sad and pissed when you died, _and_ blamed herself to no end when your husband died and your baby died and then you _decided_ _to die_ too! YEAH, THAT ONE!" she yelled at last, actually… looking like stamping her foot.

It would have been comical in other any situation. But _what _was the situation? Where was Nica? Was this hell? Purgatory? Something in between? Her last chance to say goodbye and… to say sorry?

The orange-haired woman sighed, her chest expanding and falling – ah, Nica wished she could do that too, without hurting it like _motherfucker – _and her shoulders relaxed minutely. Vera cleared her throat, the dust scratchy in her mouth as she tried to talk.

"I'm sorry. I didn't… I didn't know how to-"

Terri crossed her arms on her chest, taking two steps closer as she seated herself on a pile of debris next to Nica's form; she made no attempt at helping her from her position, another sign of Vera being clearly delusional and this being some sort of—God knew what. If Terri had been here and Nica had still been alive, her best friend would go crazy about saving her even if the both of them probably weren't enough to lift the weight from Nica's body.

"Yeah. I figured as much. You didn't know how to continue. So, you did your usual thing and wanted to fucking flee and take your own life to have your precious peace."

Nica gulped at being called out so blatantly, more tears pricking her eyes. How come she had forgotten just how well Terri read her? She knew her through and through, every dark corner of her mind, motivation behind her every action. And running… well... Vera had always been good at running, hadn't she? She even walked like she was running.

Always running from something and this time… straight into death's claws. She had been willing to die just to _have her precious peace, _Terri wasn't wrong there_._

"I'm sorry. I know that's a sin," Nica strained through her clenched teeth as another wave of pain jolted up her torso.

"Do I look like a fucking Catholic to you?" Terri deadpanned, uncrossing her arms and laying them next to her backside as she leaned forward, an incredulous frown on her face. "I don't care that it's a sin! What I _do_ care about is that you _left_ us. And I'm glad to see that you didn't die and only faked it in the end. Even though I'm not sure you realized that besides crying my eyes out, I still have _visions_ about you, because you keep getting into these-" Terri vaguely gestured towards Nica who was still trapped under the rubble and the truth of Terri's words hit her like a sledgehammer, horrifying and shameful. "-life-threatening situations."

_Oh. Oh shit._ "Oh god-"

"Yeah. _Imagine_. Having visions about your supposedly dead friend. I'm fucking _peachy, _but my therapist doesn't agree," the sitting woman scoffed looking Nica straight in the eye. "I'm hurt, I'm pissed and in theory I'm glad you're not actually dead. You just ran away, not that I have a way of knowing _that_. But you know what? Right now, I'm fucking FURIOUS!"

Nica winced at the sudden rise of Terri's voice, instantly regretting it as agony seized her body at the minute movement.

"You know why? Because you don't even have _the decency_ to stick by your lie and are actually planning on giving up and having the _real_ thing!"

Vera's body was shaking now, both because of feeling guilty of making her friend extremely upset and the blood loss, cold seeping into her skin, contrast to the white-hot pain in her insides. She eyed Terri, barely able to make out her features as her gaze swam in tears of pain, regret and despair; because… it wasn't like she could actually do anything now, could she? She _was _about to die for real – hell, wasn't she already dead? Wasn't that the reason behind reuniting with Terri?

"Terri… I'm pinned under a building," she reasoned, her tone apologetic. "There's not a thing I can do. It's kinda poetic, actually. Matt almost ended up like that."

"Yeah, I imagine I will blame this particular vision about you under rubble on that ironic resemblance. But you _saved_ him-" Terri said, a hint of a plea to her voice.

It made Nica smile despite everything. Her friend wouldn't take the credit, but they all knew that without her seeing it, Matt—he would have died that day.

"Nah, that was all you."

Terri rolled her eyes at that, causing Vera to let out a _very_ painful chuckle.

"…_okay,_ one thing I don't miss too much is your occasional thick skull and your ever-present stubbornness-"

"Yeah, well… these are _two_ things. But I get it."

Terri sighed, seemingly the one tired, as she slowly stood up again.

The truth was, _Vera_ was the one exhausted. The pain kept blinding her, the darkness edging her vision, the lack of oxygen as she had to silence the urge to whine with each shallow breath getting to her brain. Her head hit the ground with a dull thud, a burning tingle running down her spine with the single motion.

The truth also was that despite everything, she felt peace enveloping her being, resignation replacing her denial completely; she was dead or very close to it. And that was it. No drama, no more fight, just fate.

Things always happened the way they should, no matter how fucked up they could be; that she accepted a long time ago.

"You could use some of that right now, ya' know?" Terri said, sounding almost casually, kicking a stray rock as she walked lazily around Nica's form – or Nica _thought_ so, because at some point her eyelids simply slid shut. "A piece of stubbornness about surviving? Just saying. You could do that."

A breathless chuckle escaped the wanabe agent and she shook her head despite the _slight_ discomfort it caused her.

"Ter. _I'm pinned under a block of concrete. _I'm pretty sure there's a metal bar through my shoulder, but I can't move enough to check and I probably wouldn't be able to see it anyway – _because_ I'm pinned under a block of concrete."

"Uh-huh, I heard you the first time," Terri hummed. "You said that already, you know?"

"Blame it on the blood loss," Vera deadpanned.

"You think? I can't see you bleeding. Reminds me of B-99? Jake being happy about his bleeding being internal. 'cause, you know. _Inside_. That's where the blood is supposed to be. You remember that? Never mind, my uneducated Czech friend."

Nica was vaguely aware of seeing a meme or something about it back when she had been at med school, she probably had had a laugh from it. _Medical school._ Pre-US life. God, that seemed like the most ancient history ever.

"Well. I'm pretty sure most of it is still inside. Just… in my abdomen cavity…chest cavity… somewhere. My spleen ruptured or something. Possibly liver. Fatal haemorrhage," her voice trembled as she spoke the words, her head spinning at the too-vivid image. "Sucks."

"Stop speaking Latin, bitch."

"Ouch. Since when do you call me that?" Nica grimaced involuntarily and honestly- what the hell was still happening? Was this how she was spending her afterlife eternity? Conversing with Terri about how she was dying, feeling every shift of her broken bones? Because that sounded fucking _dandy_.

"Since you're giving up and letting yourself be buried alive, you thundering dumbass!" Terri hissed, the scrap of her Converses coming to a stop before resuming circling Nica.

"Now _that_ sounds familiar-"

"Yeah, well, I ran out of new insults," the mirage retorted, sounding on edge of irritated now. "Get your ass to work. You're not dying here today."

"Ter… I can't-"

"LIKE _HELL-"_

The irrational anger of her _non-present _friend made Vera's blood boil; she had just enough. She heard enough, she was not taking shit from her anymore.

It was easy or her to say to get moving! She wasn't the one under rubble! She wasn't the one in—purgatory or whatever, like Nica cared where! Her eyes snapped opened and she instantly found the pacing woman, irises flashing.

"You know what? _You_ get pinned down by a fucking building and get out and _then_ we can talk!" Nica exploded loudly, taken aback by the strength of her own voice. Christ, she could barely _breathe-_

"_There_ she is! Now chop-chop!" Terri clapped her hands twice, a grin spreading on her face. "Use that adrenalin to your advantage!"

Nica couldn't believe this was actually happening. That a mirage of her former best friend was encouraging her to heavy-lift so she would survive. And that she was about to listen to her.

"I _hate_ you."

"Love you too, hon. Now brace yourself. You have to do all the heavy lifting since I'm just a hallucination."

_Yeah, no shit. I figured as much._

"Not helpful at all…" Nica murmured, but she squeezed her eyes shut, trying her best to take a deep breath and brace herself.

"That's the spirit, mad woman," a ghost of the voice cheered her and when Nica pushed against the crushing weight with no result, searching for her friend to tell her 'I told you so,' her sight only met the dusty dark remnants of the warehouse.

"Damn you, Gratton," Nica murmured, mostly mad at the orange-haired woman for getting through to her.

Because _Jesus fucking Christ,_ she was _not_ dying here today, not under a ton of rubble.

Clenching every muscle she could, she pushed up again, a desperate cry escaping her lips, tears springing from her eyes at the excruciating pain.

The weight felt much heavier when she let go, her body going limb and a sob found its way out of her chest which felt like in a vice, air knocked out of it.

Rush of blood was the only sound she could hear, the furious thump-thump of her pounding heart only a background. All she saw was black, the edge turning white gradually. The pain… she couldn't remember what did it feel like not feeling it anymore. Or was it numbness? Had she finally gone to shock? The blood loss fatal at last? Was this it?

Nica blinked against the tears, clenching her jaw.

NO, this _couldn't _be it. Her efforts weren't pointless. God knew she simply couldn't go down without a fight. Running she could do, but giving up completely? No, oh no, that was _not_ how she lived and it wouldn't be how she died.

Her whole body seemingly trembling, shaking with both the force of her sobs and the strain of her muscles, she promised herself to try and brace herself for at least one more attempt. To try move that fucking weight at least an _inch _even if it was clear that she would fail miserably.

One more time. Just one more time. With a cry on her lips, she pushed against the broken wall with all she got.

And to her absolute astonishment, the weight on her body _moved,_ lifting good five inches and she slid it to right, inhaling and coughing with fervour.

What the _fuck_ did just hap-

"Oh thank god!"

Through her tears and dark spots dancing in front of her, she tried to focus; a pair of bright blue eyes, shining from under a helmet on a dust-cladded face, swam in her field of vision.

She could _laugh _like mad in that moment, a shadow of a hand rising to her saviour's earpiece.

"We need a med evac, ASAP," the captain reported swiftly, voice gravel even over the hush in Nica's ears, all business.

_Of course_ she hadn't freed herself on her own- she had been _lying under the block of fucking concrete, _as she had pointed out multiple times so 'Terri' noticed- was this a hint of a smile on her commander's face?

"Hey, Agent Davis. You're a hard woman to find," he remarked, short of breath as he bended above her, just hovering for few seconds as if not sure if he could touch her.

Not that Nica complained. Even in the relative dark and her vision limited by walking the line of consciousness and passing out, she could clearly see him and boy—wasn't he pretty? _Just look at _that_-_ Why did his lips turned downward? She liked the smile better, made him cuter-

Oh right, he probably expected her to say something back…

"Just bein' a good worker…" she rasped, fully attempting to move and sit up at least, but she found her muscles entirely ignoring her half-hearted commands.

"This is gonna hurt," Steve warned her nonsensically and the next thing Nica knew, a pathetic yelp fell from her lips as the captain scooped her up to his arms, probably as gently as possible and still causing agony rushing through her veins instead of blood. She could cry in relief when the numbness replaced it gradually. "Sorry."

Her gaze fell on something silver, light in the dark, a _star_ she realized, the star on his chest, and the fact that Steve Rogers was carrying her in his arms, _again,_ amused her a bit, the light swing in his step and lulling her to sleep.

"Hey! Don't pass out on me!" a bossy voice shook her awake, causing her heavy eyelids to slowly open. _What?_ She forced herself to look up, catching a glimpse of light reflected in his worried but determined blue eyes as he dodged a loose cable hanging from the ceiling. "Good worker, huh? How so? Good workers don't get themselves into that much trouble. Or do they?"

Oh yeah, he was cute, Nica decided, pretty and cute. She willed herself to give him the answer for he was trying so hard – if he was, so then could she.

Her tongue felt like made of lead, tasting like that too, but she forced the words to form, determined to do so even if it was the last thing she would ever do.

"Uh-huh… but are-… always hard— -d to find…"

-.-.-

Her body was floating, water running between her heavy fingers, pleasant brush against her skin. It tingled a bit, her fingers twitching involuntarily, gradually making her aware of the rest of her body pushed down by the weight of the water above.

She gasped for air, a silly attempt when under the surface, but to her faint astonishment, her lungs expanded, drinking in nothing but warm moist air. She couldn't be under water – in fact, her chest felt more like an elephant made its bed there.

"Hey there," a female voice rang on her right, muffled as if her ears were filled with clusters of cotton.

Vera willed her eyes to open, heavy eyelids reluctantly obeying her command.

She was met with a sight of a dimly lit room, grey and sterile, a woman in her twenties sitting in a chair by the bed she Vera was lying in, long brown hair and big concerned eyes, a gentle lift to one corner of her lips.

_Skye._

And Vera went by Nica now. She was an agent—or was trying to be. She had been on a mission, one that blew to their faces. A building had fallen on her – part of it anyway. Terri had been there—no that couldn't be right.

_Bože, co jsem kdy komu udělala-_

"Good to see you awake. We were worried," Skye continued and Vera was glad that her colleage was speaking slowly, because—_šmarja- how do English. How do I speak English? _"Just so you know, the scolding will come later. I have message to deliver first."

Vera tried and nearly failed an balling her hand into a fist – her left hand wasn't listening by any means, so she willed her right one, satisfied when it did. She continued shifting it, attempting to move it enough to reach for the mask on her face—because of course there was a mask on her face. The humid air, the pressure—and she had been injured severely.

She was bound to have a mask and when she convinced her gaze to fall lower, she could even see it.

"So, listen up. Captain Rogers sends his best wishes," Skye announced and Nica recognized the smug smirk on her face even without looking at it. "I bet he would send flowers and a get-well card too, but he didn't get to stop in a flower shop when he was carrying you out. Shame."

Nica groaned at the remark and finally made her arm to move up.

"Stop moving. You won the lottery ticket. Not many people can say they were carried bridal style by Captain America."

Vera ignored the command, grabbing her mask and raising in few inches.

"I don't- gggrhs- don't even _remember_ that," she choked out, instantly regretting talking as her throat burned, raspy voice barely coming out.

Skye rolled her eyes and leaned forward, carefully catching Nica's wrist and with the lightest pressure, she laid it back to the cushions.

Nica groaned again in protest – and embarrassment. She indeed only had a vague memory of being carried that slowly resurfaced. What she did remember rather clearly, or she thought so she did, was her sort of _flirting_ with Captain America. _Great, _just great, she really hoped he had blamed it on the blood loss.

"Sucks for you then. There are pictures though. I'll show you if you're interested. Precious. I think everyone on the jet envies you, by the way. I know _I do,"_ Skye informed her, half-heartedly wiggling her eyebrows. It didn't look quite convincing as she hovered over Nice with concern written all over her face, reaching for the button to call a nurse if Vera could take a guess.

She wanted to comment of Skye's words, clenching her fist again, beginning to raise her arm again, but Skye was faster, taking her mask off.

"Everyone? Even Ward?" Nica asked, a subtle way of prying if her Echo partner made it out in one piece.

Skye rearranged the mask, pushing her chair closer as she sat back down, an honest smile curling up her lips this time, a spark of amusement dancing in her eye.

"Oh yeah. But honestly, I think Coulson was the worst. I swear he has the biggest crush on him of us all, he wouldn't shut up about him, not that I can blame him, just look at him and he's all heroic-…"

Nica nestled further into the bed and listened to Skye's mindless ramble. And to her own astonishment… it felt really good, a small relaxed smile tugging on her lips even under the uncomfortable plastic. She was really starting to like this woman.

Must have been the drugs.

-.-.-  
Notes:  
Well, this was a long one. Making up for the time it took me? Maybe. Soooorry, I got caught up in writing a tumblr prompt and my mind just wouldn't stop until I put at least main ideas and dialogues and stuff on paper/screen. Come see me on that hellsite if you want to! Name's anika-ann.

Anyway. Thank you for reading :))

Thoughts? I kinda wanted Matt to be there when Nica/Vera hallucinates, but Terri seemed like a funnier and less angsty option because of her attitude™ and I didn't want Nica to be like, _oh my dead husband came to collect me. _How did you feel about that?


	7. Slip and Slide

_This one is covering a long time period – whole Nica's recovery – so these will be mostly snippets. You might recognize references to certain AoS episodes._

_I've been writing other stuff… Thank you for your patience with me :))_

_Chapter title explanation: Nica truly tries to stick to her attitude and façade. But sometimes… sometimes she slips._

-.-.-

**6\. Slip and Slide**

Nica couldn't begin to tell how grateful she was for not having to stay in the medbay of the Hub for too long; she would go crazy there with no doubt. After several operations – yes, _several, as if more than one, she was lucky to be _alive at all_ – _she spent two weeks there before being released to 'home care'.

This way, she might be stuck in her cubicle on her bed, but got access to files, reports from older missions of her team so she could be caught up to speed, and as much as she was trying to hide it, she was really, _really _glad she had some company at times.

Simmons was in the charge of her treatment, occasionally consulting with other experts – she was more into chemistry than physiotherapy after all. They just finished a session for Nica's arm when the doctor smiled at her, praising her for her determination.

"Well, let's be honest. Being benched sucks. I want to be back on my feet asap," Nica explained, her efforts rewarded by Jemma's gentle smile.

"Don't overdo it. If we push too hard, we might-"

"-make it worse, I know."

"Don't worry. I'm sure you'll get another chance to see Prague," Simmons offered, rising to her feet.

Nica's heart stopped, a void opening her ribcage instead of not worrying as Jemma advised.

_Prague? _They were going to a mission to _Prague_ of all places? And Coulson didn't think to tell her?

It wasn't like she thought she should worry about being compromised in the field, she could barely move in the electric wheelchair since two days ago, but come on! She had knowledge! She _spoke_ the damn language! For once, she could actually help them, _her_ specifically!

Not to mention she was itching, _dying,_ to do something usefulin the first place.

"Nica? You okay?"

Simmons' voice snapped Nica from her indignation and she forced herself to shook her head and chuckle.

"Yeah. Was just thinking about what you said," she lied easily. "Thanks for the session."

"Of course," the other woman said, her expression nothing but surprised. As if it was granted she would spent tons of her time to help Nica recover. It made Nica wonder just when had they become… sort of friends. "Get some rest."

_Sure will, _ Nica thought and the moment Jemma's figure disappeared, she eyed the wheelchair, her mind racing.

She didn't want the team to now about her past, but what harm could it do to say she spent some time _there?_ She didn't have to share anything too specific. Mm…

She'd be fine.

-.-.-

"…I don't think this is the best road we can take. Yes, it's easy to get lost if we leave the car, but watching the CCTV, the speed we'd move _in the car_ is pitiful to say at least."

May's words reached Nica over the low hum of electricity of her wheelchair, making her unsubtly roll her eyes. Of course the speed wasn't high enough; that was _Prague_ they were talking about – probably the centre of it, no less – even walking fast was sometimes an issue, she remembered how much she had hated that.

Nica was hoping to _sneak_ into the mission planning, but this was a team of spies – on different levels, but still sort of spies. Nothing went past them.

Ward was the one to turn to her as she wheeled into the doorway, quickly followed by May and Coulson, various expression of surprise on their faces; Ward was frowning slightly, May had one corner of her lips raised, as if smirking at Nica's disobedience and Coulson wore a tight-lipped smile as if he was trying to hold back a laugh.

The rest of the team snapped their head to Nica, actually adding dramatics to her entrance.

"Which is why you should take a tram," she hummed, moving further into the room as she eyed the holograms, instantly recognizing the spot. _Of course. _She used to take that route to school every day. "But not number 16. Good for stealth, terrible if you want to be able to turn around or, you know, _breathe. _Too packed."

Her confident words were followed by silence and she actually had to stop herself from grinning. It was good to be able to help, even in small ways, and the expression on their faces were priceless – so golden she almost smirked.

Simmons was the first to recover, shaking her head, a mixture of disappointed mother and pissed off mother in her voice. "You are not supposed to out of bed! We _just_ discussed pushing yourself too hard!"

Nica wordlessly raised her eyebrow, unable to help herself and subtly pointed towards her temporary means of transport, silently asking _why_ she had a wheelchair then.

Ward joined in, crossing his arms on his chest to prove his point – to show off his muscles: "You're meant to have help getting into that chair."

His look as nothing but scolding – he was usually the one helping her into the chair and Nica didn't doubt for one second that it was a guilt-driven action. Despite her uncertainty about his personality, she knew one thing – and that even though he kept saying otherwise, he was a team player and leaving her behind in the building, saving himself from obtaining the same injuries like hers if not worse, bothered him. The fact that he was one of her SO didn't help, Nica was sure of that.

Basically, it meant that Ward owned a monopole on getting her into that damn chair indeed. If she didn't know better, she'd think he liked touching her. What a ridiculous thought… he clearly had some chemistry with Skye _and_ May, not her_, _and also – she was so _not_ interested.

"Didn't want pull you out, you were obviously in the middle of planning already," Nica shrugged with her right shoulder – the considerably better one.

"Glad you could join us."

All heads sans May's snapped to the boss, one corner of his lips twitching – and finally, Nica realized what was up. Simmons had been _meant to tell her_ about Prague, possibly without her even being aware of playing a part in a game – Coulson's game.

Coulson was baiting Nica, encouraging her to join team meeting on her own – and much more than about a physical progress, it was about a mental one.

She hated him and loved him for it at the same time.

"Yeah, I might have some input, if you let me," Nica said rather calmly, barely keeping the sarcasm at bay.

"Thought you might. So, not 16, what are the other-"

"Whoa, whoa! Why are we so on board? How do you know Prague? How well?" Fitz interjected, his gaze flickering between Coulson and Nica, clearly not pleased they had some silent understanding they weren't willing to share – an inside joke even.

Nica didn't blame him… much.

"I've spent some time there," Nica explained, already knowing it wouldn't satisfy him. "Charles University is one of the best ones in Europe. I studied there long enough to tell you which tram you want to avoid and that car is not a smart choice, because it's slower than trams at most."

"Good enough for me," May remarked with a subtle shrug of her shoulder, turning back to the holograms. "What's your take on this? We're picking up a professor and a postgrad working with him, taking them under our protection, both from CVUT…"

Nica only wheeled closer to the centre of the room and listened intently to every word, a strange feeling of calmness spreading in her chest.

Yeah, it felt good to make some difference, no matter how small.

-.-.-

The mission was a success, surprisingly without one single hick-up. It almost scared Nica, things going so smoothly. Professor Šmajda and his assistant in research Kučera were safely escorted to the jet and on their way back to the States and the longer they talked, the more Nica understood why the team, meant to deal with much complicated mission, had got a simple pick-up job. The men were bioengineers and they were helping to figure out the tech behind the controlled agents with a camera/pager in their eye – a creepy as fuck past mission Nica remembered reading about.

The thing was, the talk flowed nicely, feeling like a semi-scientific chitchat, allowing most of the team to interact, the scholars spoke wonderful English and both had surprisingly good human skills.

In other words, they were fishy as fuck and Nica didn't feel the slightest need to bond with them over their homeland for more reasons than just not blowing her cover. Perhaps she was getting paranoid, but she trusted her gut to a point, _always _at least hearing it out and considering what her intuition whispered in her ear.

Much to her frustration, soon enough she was proven right in her cynicism.

And really – it was like someone was actively trying to make her lose all faith in humanity. People were assholes – _men _were assholes. There must have been a reason why they called the criminals bad _guys._

The moment the sombre pause followed after saying Coulson's former agent's name, everyone probably thinking about how it could happen to any of them, their assets switched languages.

"Já si k sobě přizvu toho kluka a ty se půjdeš bavit s tou v plášti. Stačí strčit do jakýhokoli slotu a program začne pracovat," the prof said and Nica's fists clenched in her lap.

Of course. _Of fucking course._ It _had_ gone too smoothly.

The only true luck the team had right now was that when bad guys thought they were winning, they got arrogant and stupid.

To be fair, Nica couldn't really hold it against them that they didn't even consider the possibility of someone on the jet knowing Czech.

She quickly caught Ward's eye, making a tiny motion with her thumb by her throat, as if cutting it. Those fuckards were too busy starting their plan to notice, Šmajda calling for Fitz as he had said he would, while Kučera went to Simmons with a smile on his lips.

Ward frowned, confusion written all over his face, and Nica just beckoned to the prof, while pressing the buttons to wheel towards the pair in the lab, who was surrounded by equipment and screens – with many slots for a flash drive –, momentarily starting a discussion on the _organic _science of the devices in people's eye.

"Hey, Simmons? My leg is starting to hurt again, I'm pretty sure I moved it in a wrong way—where are the stronger painkillers you offered me earlier?" Nica hummed, wheeling into the lab and earning a confused glance from the doctor.

"What painkillers?"

Nica rolled her eyes as if annoyed and the exact moment, she also collided with professor's assistant, the handles and wheel of her wheelchair butting his leg and side.

He let out a grunt at the impact, stumbling and stabilizing himself on the desk.

"Ah, omlouvám se, jsem taková nešika," Nica apologized for being a klutz swiftly, seeing the horror appear in the Kučera's eyes.

He opened his mouth to say whatever- and Nica didn't waste any time, bracing herself on her healthy arm, kicking his balls with her right knee.

The very same moment, she heard shuffle by the couch as the prof jumped to his feet, a crack echoing in the room as he most likely met Ward's fist.

Simmons quickly caught up and hit the assistant with a metal platter at hand, knocking him unconscious.

"Why did we do that? And I told you _not to overdo things!_ What was _this?! _Your body needs to rest! And what painkillers?!"

Nica shot Jemma an incredulous looks at both the scolding and the questions.

"You're welcome. And check his hands, he'll have a USB drive there or something."

The doctor swiftly crouched by the unconscious man, prying his fingers open, right hand and then left hand, only to truly reveal a flash drive.

"Ha!" she huffed victoriously. "Fascinating!" Nica felt her eyebrows rise at the bright smile Jemma wore. The scientist quickly straightened her face. "And awful. What does this mean? Did we pick the wrong men?"

"Don't think so. Czech people love a good opportunity to steal anything… but I guess that's not exclusively on us," Nica sighed, tired of and definitely _not_ missing that particular trait of her nation.

"_Us,_ huh?" Skye questioned, a sly grin on her lips as she walked to Simmons so she could examine the drive. _"Some time _in Prague?"

"Yeah, Skye. _Some," _Nica emphasized, backing up to make space and nodding towards her victim. "Anyone going to cuff them and interrogate them?"

To her surprise, it was Fitz who spoke – in his unmistakable sarcastic tone. "That sounds like a good idea. Can't you do it? You could have fooled us with those moves…"

Nica fought a smirk as Ward went to cuff the professor first and she couldn't but feel the satisfaction at their cooperation – despite their scepticism and remarks, they quickly understood she had known more than they had, the moment she had not only kicked a guy's balls but also spoken an unfamiliar language to them, decidedly similar to the one their culprits did.

Yeah. It felt good to be useful.

"Please, Fitz, don't encourage her, I'm begging you. She truly needs to rest. Let's figure out what their goal was…"

-.-.-

Even after their little post-Prague incident, Nica still liked to think she was maintaining the image of being rather emotionless or at least managing to keep the team at arms-length – to a point. Doing that, it was way easier than feeling.

Except there were moments when she… slipped. Ever since Skye sat at her bedside, making fun of her for being carried out by Captain Handsome… ever since she had a blood-loss-induced encounter with her former best friend… she could feel two very different attitudes battling inside of her.

Two people, she could say, and they even had names. Veronica Murdock and Nicole Davis. And they very much struggled when occupying the same space in her head, in her heart.

Lots of time in bed and less active mission partaking meant she also had too much time to ruminate, which was never a good thing – but it wasn't necessarily a bad thing either. Her recovery showed her how much she _needed to _start open up to her team, even for a little bit.

And consciously or not, that was exactly what she was doing.

It was a not-so-routine mission of freeing a mutant who had been experimented on, when Nica and Skye stayed behind as online support; Skye because she was an expert and Nica because she couldn't be useful in any other way. Bummer.

On the bright side, Skye hacked the surveillance and they truly had eyes on everything, keeping the team members updated on anything happening, potential enemy approaching them – and the best thing was having the visual on their team _kicking ass._

Nica felt like a creep, because she had to force herself to watch the surrounding instead of having her eyes on May's fighting all the time; for the lack of better word, it was a hand-to-hand fighter wet dream.

Agent Melinda May just jumped on a guard she had already disarmed, her legs wrapped around his neck and with a twist of her hips and a shift of her weight, knocked him to the ground, while she landed gracefully by him.

Nica's jaw was on the floor as she could still only dream on being _that _good. She completely forgot to control her brain-to-mouth filter at the sight.

"Well, here goes another person who can kill with her thighs. I bet he kinda liked it," she murmured, gaining a puzzled and utterly astonished look from her companion.

"Did you just make an attempt of a joke?" Skye asked incredulously, chuckling.

Nica froze, her heart pounding in her chest loudly, as she gulped and quickly averted Skye's gaze.

"It was… a comment."

"A _funny_ one! And you're almost smiling! - Wait. Was that a reference to Natasha Romanoff?"

At that, Nica sighed and rolled her eyes. "Obviously."

"Have you _met_ her?" Skye pried and Nica clenched her jaw, startled and pissed at herself at instant. She had been spilling details of her previous life too often to her liking lately.

_Shit._

"Uhm. No. I just… studied a lot," Nica denied easily, moving her fingers on the screen to see details of Ward's corridor.

"…sure you did."

Nica vs. Vera, 0:1.

She had sworn to herself she'd be more vigilant after that, seeing as Skye didn't believe her poor excuse; for few weeks, enough for her to move on from wheelchair to crutches, Nica actually managed to keep her promise, even if it meant growing more isolated once again.

Still, she couldn't resist when she heard the laughter from the common room, almost hysterical. She laid down the book she was failing to read – what was the title again? – and hobbled her way to the living room, only to freeze in few feet from it.

"…are you telling me it was _Elsa?" _Fitz demanded, sounding incredulous and slightly irritated.

Nica grimaced at the jab on her façade. No matter what, Fitz kept supplying with a reference to the Ice Queen and others… she was actually quite surprised by his pop culture knowledge.

"Well, it's either her or _May," _Skye remarked, earning few more chuckles from the team. Except Fitz was most definitely not laughing.

Nica's lips curled up in a smile when she realized that whatever the source of the amusement was, it must have been May's doing indeed and her curiosity got the best of her. She entered the common room and the smiles froze on everyone's lips, all eyes on her – well, except for Fitz, one of his was… having some difficulties to fully open, seeing as the sticky substance covered half of his face.

Nica's silent snort filled the room, her left hand dropping the crutch only to fly to her mouth before she could burst out laughing.

"_Davis?! _Did you-"

Nica glanced at Fitz once more, her palm still muffling the potential giggle as she shook her head, pointedly gesturing towards her crutches in wordless explanation – it was considerably difficult for her to sneak up on someone.

The scene in front of her was ridiculous. Silly even; it was the classic whipped cream prank, the white substance all over Fitz hand and half of his face-

Still, it was one of the funniest things Nica saw in the past few weeks, months even. Hell, they had just dealt with some sort of a _ghost_, who had nearly sabotaged their quinjet. Cut her some slack, she needed to decompress.

"No, definitely not me," Nica pronounced into the uncomfortable silence, the air in the room remaining somewhat tense. "But I gotta say, Fitz… you look _delicious."_

The surprised burst of laughter that followed warmed Nica's heart despite her best efforts.

It was impossible to stay emotionally intact when May roasted Skye too, about getting personal on the job, for tracking her own damn _origin,_ or when a guy turned some sort of a supersoldier – Mike Peterson, Nica remembered reading – saved his son only to run into flames to save Coulson and he ended up blown up. It was almost harder when Coulson reappeared, their unshakable leader a little bit broken.

These were bigger slips too, but it was all nothing in comparison to what was to come. Pushing her emotions down for so long, the only thing that could be expected eventually did happen. It blew up just like the car Mike Peterson had run for; and for a good reason too.

Ian Quinn popped up on their radar for them to pursue – first mission for Nica after a long time – and he shot Skye twice in her stomach; she was practically dead by the time the team found her in a basement.

Correction, when _Nica_ found her in the basement of the luxurious residence and all she could do was to stare at her, paralysed and forgetting to breathe.

It took almost a minute before Coulson burst into the room as Nica hadn't been answering her comms, but it felt like forever. Only when Nica's boss kneeled to Skye, desperate pleas on his lips, Nica finally unfroze; the only thing she managed to do though, was to close her eyes and see more blood behind her eyelids.

-.-.-

They took her on the jet in a hyperbaric chamber, lowering the temperature, getting her to _breathe again._ Simmons, with pathetic help of Nica, who was finally able to lock her emotions in place, were trying to think of a way to keep her alive long enough to reach a medical facility.

And then there was the surgery, blood everywhere, pictures of Matt and Skye blending together, and all Nica could do was to sit with the others, shaking, unable to breathe, the walls around her closing off around her frame and then suddenly there was Jemma's voice reaching out to her, urging her to slow down her breathing.

Her world spun, but in the end, she managed to stop before she passed out.

The doctor announced they needed to consider ending the artificial sleep, because there was nothing more they could do for Skye.

Something in Nica snapped. She knew _exactly_ what do to, maybe not to help Skye, but sure as fuck to help herself.

It was way too easy to get into Quinn's cell.

He looked up at her when she entered, arching his eyebrows what she could only assume was curiosity. Not that she cared enough to give it a thought

"Hey, you're the new girl. You have something special for me?" he asked cockily as if he wasn't the one cuffed to the table, _arrogant bastard,_ still thinking he had the upper hand here.

Vera's expression remained even, strangely calm as if the words hadn't connected with their meaning and the meaning hadn't been interpreted in her brain.

It hadn't, because her brain was flooded with frantic images of blood, blood _everywhere_\- pain, the pain she had been burying inside for way too long, the pressure building and building.

The pressure caused a crack in the shell with a sound of Quinn's jaw breaking. The blow sent him flying off of his chair, while he remained cuffed to the table.

"You can't do this!"

"Why? 'Cause you can't defend yourself?" she hissed, judge's voice echoing in her ears as well as Jemma's. _No defensive wounds._

Skye had no defensive wounds. Matt hadn't had them either. They couldn't do a thing.

"Then you know how it feels."

That _motherfucker_ even had the nerve to chuckle; it was way too easy to imagine the one who had taken Matt away from her in Quinn's place, murdering Vera's husband in cold blood, just like her- _her daughter. _

"Ah,_ vengeance, _how sw-"

He couldn't finish whatever sentence he had started, because she cut him off with another punch, tears of rage in her eyes. And another one, one more-

"Yuf bweikin' fe wules!" he yelled, but with his nose pouring blood and his jaw damaged, it quite didn't sound as it should.

But it gave her a tiny pause, allowing her to raise him by his collar. _She was breaking the rules, huh?_

_Big. Fucking. Deal._

"Yeah, _maybe_. I've been doing that a lot, lately."

She had promised herself she wouldn't let her past get to her again – but she had broken that rule too when she froze. And then everything _burned._

When she hit his face again, she indulged the feeling of his shirt slipping from her other hand with the force of her blow.

It was when the door buzzed and flew open, another person striding in with heavy steps.

"Stop it! Nica!" May yelled after her and Vera froze in mid-strike, her jaw and fist clenched. Her chest was heaving with furious breaths as she slowly turned to her superior.

"He _fucking_ deserves it!" she strained through her teeth, meeting with a surprisingly open expression of the other woman.

The anger in May's eyes almost mirrored her own. _Almost._

"Agreed," the pilot admitted, taking two steps closer, measuring the bloody bastard with deadly glare. "But I want him to be conscious when I hit him."

Nica blinked through her tears, the red from her vision slowly fading away as she realized where she was and this man was not the one she wished to see screaming and begging for his life to be spared. Not as much as the other one, the one without a face, the one who haunted her in her nightmares. _Matt's killer._

She gulped against the lump in her throat, backing out, making space for May, uttering:

"…could've just said you wanted your pound of flesh. All yours."

Quinn stared at the newcomer with horror in his eyes, but his lips were curled up in a smile. Until May knocked a tooth out of his perfect grin.

Two more strikes and he was out. May and Nica exchanged a look of shared sympathy, easing their clenched fists.

And then Coulson rushed in, assessing the scene in front of him with strict expression and a only half-hearted curse on his lips.

"Goddammit, women!" he called out, not nearly as scolding as he should, Vera thought. "Walk it off, both of you! Dammit."

Nica only nodded curtly, not planning on _walking off_ anything. Honestly, she had no fucking clue _what_ she should do with herself now.

The images in front of her eyes were too vivid, the skin on her knuckles split open, her mind and body exhausted and yet burning with life and a flame of rage.

She spared the lame excuse for a human being another glance as she stopped in the doorway.

"Go, Nica," Coulson repeated sternly, causing her fingers to twitch as she wanted nothing but to shake Quinn awake and punch him _again._

"I'm getting a drink. Want one?"

Vera's head snapped the other agent's direction, shock strong enough to almost reach her brain. She couldn't say she saw that coming… from May of all people.

What? A drink and a heart-to-heart? _No, thank you. _

"No talking allowed," May added and Nica hesitated.

Now _that_ sounded more like it. And more like the agent too.

Vera only followed her in silent acceptation of her offer.

…

"I froze."

Vera wasn't certain how those words slipped from her lips. One moment she was avoiding staring at the bottom of the glass, downing it, because the stupid colour reminded her of empty unseeing and death-misty eyes, and the next, she was talking.

Her companion rose from her seat and Nica was sure the agent was about to leave, since the rules – ones that had caused Nica to come and have the drink – were broken. Instead, May raised the bottle and refilled Nica's glass without a comment.

A lump grew in her throat, suffocating, as the warm whiskey colour appeared in front of her again and she couldn't but close her eyes only for the image to reappear, the actual memory burned into her retinas, coming back every time she was supposed to see nothing but her closed eyelids.

"I saw her lying there in a puddle of _blood-"_

"Wouldn't make much difference," May noted nonchalantly, pouring herself another drink too.

Vera's eyes snapped open in shock. Whether it was the words themselves or the fact that Agent May spoke, she couldn't tell.

"You've been there what, thirty seconds? A minute? It wouldn't make a difference," the senior agent continued, a barely audible shift in her voice, a crack, an almost undetectable hitch in her breath.

Wouldn't it? Skye had been there for a while, her lips a scary blue shade and her pulse nothing but a weak flutter; she hadn't even been bleeding anymore.

Matt had been lying there for a while too. Absence of breathing. Absence of a pulse. Blood everywhere; had he been bleeding when Vera had found him? She couldn't recall and that fact caused her stomach to turn over. How was it possible to forget _that? _Vera remembered everything else so clearly, the image of him ever-present, more so in her nightmares.

And of course, when she had found Skye, the reality and the other horrifying picture blended together.

"But I _froze."_

"Happened to everyone," May said matter-of-factly. "Makes you work harder next time."

_Yeah?_ Vera thought bitterly, barely swallowing the scoff that was fighting its way out. _And what if I already worked my hardest, what then?_

"It's your teammate one day. The next one it's a woman with her grandkids taking a stroll in the wrong place at the wrong time. You try your best. And each time you do, your best gets better."

Nica's heart pounded in her chest painfully at the new horror image painted, but somehow, _somehow, _her breathing hurt a little less, the pressure in her impossibly tight chest easing just a little.

Tears burned in her eyes, wondering how many times she would have to see people she cared about—and fuck it, yeah, she cared about Skye, so _what_—how many would get hurt, how many would _die,_ before her best became good enough.

May turned her glass bottoms up and rose from her seat on the leather couch, placing it next to Nica's still half-empty.

"Gym in five if you're interested," she hummed and as she was leaving, Vera's insides already screaming 'fuck YES', the younger woman couldn't but show her gratitude.

"Thanks, May," Nica whispered.

The pilot looked at her over her shoulder briefly.

"Don't mention it."

-.-.-

That night, Vera dreamed of her husband, dying under her palms, warm blood pouring between her fingers, dead misted eyes starring to the ceiling as her desperate sobs rang in their apartment.

She was violently woken up by the sudden death-solid grip on her wrist, drawing a scream from her chest.

She snapped her eyes open to the dim space of her cubicle, Coulson's eyes watching her, both hands raised in a gesture of surrender as she felt tears streaming down her cheeks.

"We need to talk."


	8. Lessons in Death-cheating

**7\. Lessons in Death-cheating**

"There's- there's a medication that can bring someone back from the death? Like… days after?" Nica summed up Coulson's narrative incredulously, her gaze flickering between him and the infamous Fitz-Simmons science duo.

Simmons, standing above an open file – a _very_ _thick _file – sighed, running her fingers through her hair.

"It's not just one medication, one miraculous vitrae," she explained, frowning on whatever she was seeing in the documents. "It was a never-ending series of procedures as it seems, we'll have to look into it further. It looks so… unnatural."

_Unnatural._

The word appeared to be losing its meaning the longer Nica was on the team.

When Veronika Macháčková first set foot in New York City, she hadn't even had a clue an alien invasion had occurred there, only having heard about a terrorist attack.

And suddenly, the world had become a much stranger place, the _weird_ surrounding her as if she was a damn magnet; blind superpowered vigilante, not to mention a band of superheroes, ninja cults fighting an ancient war along with a guy with a glowing fist he had earned by punching a dragon (no, Vera was still not over it), archers, speedsters, breachers from another Earth- loss, death, murder.

Secret government organizations. Fake suicide.

And now actually cheating death.

Her boss had been brought back from the dead. When they had first met – when he ambushed her in the prison – he had told her he had flatlined.

This sounded like a whole lot more than flatlining.

This was playing fucking _God_ and winning, choosing an undoubtedly good man to _live_ despite his heart stopping not for seconds, nor minutes—but for _days._

But didn't Vera know at least one man who would have deserved the same?

Who had given the operatives of _SHIELD _of all people in the world the right to choose who should get another chance and who shouldn't?

Jesus _fucking_ Christ.

_Unnatural,_ Simmons said.

Vera could think of many, _many_ other words to describe what it was, staring with 'mess', continuing with 'miracle' and ending with 'unfair'. Instead of saying any of these out loud, she squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed her anger and grief fighting to get an outlet, air stuck in her lungs, guts twisted to the brim of torture. When she opened her eyes again, no one could see anything in them but something odd, indescribable. Emotions locked out in her heart, barely held together perhaps, but hidden securely for later to blow up.

Unnatural, Jemma said. What else should Nica respond with than what she was expected to?

"Yeah. I guess," she murmured, her own voice sounding like someone else's, strange, distant, dull.

Funnily enough, that was the last straw, hearing the three seemingly careless words leave her lips, when she cared with all her heart.

"Excuse me."

-.-.-

Coulson found her half an hour later – most definitely not a result of too vast ground to cover in his search –, sitting on her bed, her back leaned onto a wall as she had half-curled into herself; pathetic.

But be as it was, she had no energy left in her body, not one damn molecule of it. The emotional roller-coaster of the previous mission, the brutal encounter with the past caused by her own teammate momentarily fighting for her life on this very jet, the heart-to-heart with May, the alcohol, the work-out, the lack of sleep.

Vera was just… she was just so fucking exhausted; she honestly wondered if this was how it felt, having her soul leave her body. It hadn't happened through her raging fists this time; after a rather long time, she just… _cried._ And wondered.

She needed to come to terms with this shit. People could come back from death, but probably only during a very limited period of time after they had died, probably only in certain circumstances. The chances were probably slightly above zero – Coulson might have survived his own death, but they had yet to learn the price for it and Vera didn't even want to know if he suffered through the procedures, _how exactly_ it had happened and if there had been thousands of people or more before him experimented on, him being the one success in a one to million probability.

She knew nada, she could only _assume_ and perhaps that was for the best.

The only important conclusion she had come to during her sobfest and self-torment of what-if, was that there was no way she could bring her husband back and that there had been _no way _she could have known such procedure existed when it had been still relevant. And oh, she had been the main suspect at the time, so her hands had been tied, quite literally. There had been _nothing more_ she could have done.

The conclusion was the only reason why she was able to face her boss. She heard him approach, hesitate by the door slid ajar; she hadn't wanted to lock it completely in case she would be in fact needed, though she doubted it.

She looked up at him, for the first time in a while not ashamed for her emotions, for the dried tears and blood-shot eyes.

"Oh Nica…" he sighed regretfully, sliding the door enough to fit in the doorway, his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry."

She eased her position, lowering her knees to her legs dangled from the bed, and charmed a tiny sad smile for him.

Phil Coulson had a heart made of compassion and fatherly love and Vera couldn't but be in fact happy for him to be alive, even if she wished for more people having been brought back to life.

"Whatever for?" she whispered, unsure whether she was truly asking, whether she wanted an answer. Her boss sighed in response.

"This. Learning about this…. I know that- I realize this must be hard for you-"

"We all lost someone, Coulson," she stated, ignoring the way her voice cracked and beckoned for him to sit if he wanted. He reluctantly accepted, lowering himself next to her, giving her an expectant side-eye. He knew her so well already.

"I always believed that death is an inevitable part of life – and it is. Just from what I heard… what they have done to you? Bringing you back from the dead? That was playing God, Coulson. People shouldn't play God," Nica continued, letting her thoughts lose as well as her mouth, her eyes fixed staring ahead, unseeing. "They've gotten away with it once and I'm happy they did, because you're here despite all the odds. But it shouldn't be done again. It was a _miracle_. There's only certain amount of miracles that can happen and yours had a purpose. There's a larger plan. Things happen the way they should."

She had always thought there was a larger plan, she _had_. Lately, she only had a damn hard time to come to terms with the fact that _this, _this whole shitshow happening, had any reason. Where were they heading? _What_ was the goal?

Besides death?

"We _have to_ save her," Coulson rasped next to her, voice rougher than Vera ever heard him speak in, laced with desperation she wouldn't think he was willing to show. The amount of care her boss had for his subordinated made her heart melt a little. Even if him thinking she had a different opinion slightly hurt.

"I agree."

She looked at him with a tiny rise to the corners of her lips, meeting with his confused frowning face. "You just said-"

"That we shouldn't play God and I stand by that," she explained simply. "You were dead, Coulson_. For days._ This is different, Skye is still breathing. And I'm gonna do _everything_ I can to make sure it will stay that way."

_Because with her, there are still things I can do. Hopefully. She's not beyond saving. Not her._

Despite Coulson's eyes glimmering with deeply buried tears, he returned her soft smile. "Thank you."

"That's not something you should be thanking for. Protecting life, especially life of good people. That's why we are here, aren't we?"

And Vera meant that. Whatever the reason for her being still alive was, whatever purpose of hers was in this world, this could be it and she'd be content enough to keep living. To keep _helping._

If she didn't know how to help herself entirely, then she would be certain to try and help others at least.

_God knows it might save me too._

The strangest of expressions settled on Coulson's face, searching gaze watching her expression. What he was looking for she wasn't sure, but it wasn't all that unpleasant. His own expression was kind – if she dared to, she might even think there was a flash of admiration in his irises.

In _his?_ For _her?_

"Do you really believe that? That there is a plan?" he asked after a moment of silence, perhaps after a moment of quiet understanding.

"I don't even know anymore," she admitted openly with a light shrug to her shoulders. "But what other choice do I have?"

He grimaced, but didn't respond. Perhaps there was no response to give.

"If there _is_ a cure, Simmons and Fitz will find how to get their hands on it. They are ones of the most brilliant minds I've ever met. And I've met a few, you know that," Vera added, a little drop of positivity into the sea of their heavy conversation.

"Veronica, I'm-" Nica winced at the sharp pang she felt upon hearing her full name. _Christ, _if had been _ages- _Coulson's hand covered hers, similarly cold to hers to her surprise. "Sorry, I didn't mean to— I'm just really glad you're here."

Nica turned to him, an honest smile tugging at her lips.

"You pulled me out of the pit, Coulson. You took a miserable life, which most people didn't think was worth saving-" including herself, but she wouldn't admit that "-and gave it purpose. Because you care. You have an incredibly strong sense of right and wrong – guess I've been always drawn to people like that. You're driven by heart and that's how it should be."

"Why do I sense a 'but' coming?" he asked warily.

Nica averted his gaze and that was when she caught a movement with the corner of her eye, only a shadow, but enough to make her feel like a bucket of ice-cold water soaked her clothes, her skin, her bones.

Dammit s_hit._

_Well. You can't unring a bell, I guess, _she thought, mentally cursing some more.

On the outside, she only sighed and shook her head at both of their irresponsibility. They had been too caught up in spilling their heart to remember the basic rule of spies – to mind their surroundings carefully. There was no point in not finishing her thought – her wish was not meant to be a secret.

"They say it can cloud judgement. I would know. I still think the heart is the best way to go. You would go to the end of the world to save your team. It's admirable and it's right. But if we do find this miraculous cure and _I am_ ever in situation like yours was? If you believe something could bring me back? Don't use it."

"Nica-" Coulson started off, but she wouldn't let him finish, physically feeling as her open demeanour began to close off again and for a good reason.

"Ward can remind you that if he's there for such situation, right?" she outed _him_ finally and a loud clearing of a throat sounded from outside of the cubicle. It hadn't been hard to figure out who was eavesdropping; May was piloting probably, and Fitz-Simmons were elbows deep in research. Skye was barely breathing – so Ward it was. "I would appreciate if you didn't share what you heard here, Agent Ward. Thanks for the chat, Sir."

Coulson, whose head had snapped up the moment she called out Ward on his spying, easily took the hint and rose to his feet, an uncharacteristically dark shadow over his face. Nica knew he was not pleased with his team member lurking in the corridors, just like he didn't like her request.

He left however, with nothing but a nod and a stiff strut that said even more about his humour than his expression. Nica exhaled loudly when he left and slid the door closed behind himself.

"What she said, Ward. And that's an order," she heard him add and she bit her cheek, falling to her bed as exhaustion took over her body yet again.

-.-.-

Nica had faith, a very strong faith – one that she was desperately holding onto to be honest – that they would save Skye.

There had been complications, there had been Coulson running into the medical cubicle begging Simmons _not_ to give Skye the cure after all – effectively baffling everyone – but they managed.

Skye was _cured._

No terrible procedures. Just _one magical vial._

Yeah, 'unnatural'surely applied here. 'Insane' did as well, just like 'impossible did.

Nica had hoped and she had a strong belief. She might even went as far as saying she simply _knew_ they would safe Skye.

What she did not expect was Coulson calling her into his office only two days later, asking her to sit. He turned a laptop screen to her with the most _insane_ of newspaper articles she had ever read.

Her eyes misted with tears, her heart hammering painfully in her chest with each word she read, the black latters swimming in front of her eyes, her fisted hand covering her mouth.

A cold vice squeezed her ribcage, suffocating feeling entering her lungs, air coming out in harsh short breaths. Her vision went dark, crimson mingling with black, flashes of blood, on her hands, smeared on her clothes, on _his_ clothes-

What the actual _fuck. _

_How? _

_WHY?_

_**Name Cleared, 3 Lives Lost: The MURDOCK Tragedy Seen in New Light**_

After presenting new evidence, the investigation had been reopened. And light indeed had been shined on the biggest conspiracy since Wilson Fisk's case.

Matthew Murdock had stepped on Ginno family's toes.

Matt Murdock had been working on exposing their dirty business. Not Daredevil, not officially at least, no.

The good lawyer of Hell's Kitchen had been murdered and the remaining two family members died due to _unfortunate_ circumstance.

Vera could fucking _kill _at that moment. Her whole body shook in rage, staring at the image of a mafia boss, Matt's murderer, her _child's _murderer, in a sense anyway, _her own_ killer and her blood boiled and felt like ice at the same time.

She wasn't even sure whether she was relieved a bit, she honestly couldn't tell. What good did it even make now? Yes, the true murderer deserved to be served justice – a knife through his heart,his neck snapped, a shot between his eyes, if Vera could pick, possibly all three combined, just to make sure – but what _good_ did it make to _her?_ To her family, her ex-friends?

It was like probing a slowly healing wound with tweezers dipped in acid.

And why on Earth was Coulson showing her this?

Nothing made sense anymore.

God, how could she even _think_ after learning this, what should she even _do_ with this information?

She snapped the laptop close and pushed it away from her with disgust; with fire in her stomach, bile rose to her mouth, her throat dry and yet feeling like stuffed with a wet lump at the same time, as she was swallowing her tears.

"Thanks," she managed to choke out, unable to meet Coulson's eyes, even less so when she left the intensity of her boss' gaze. "But… you didn't bring me here to tell me my name is cleared. Neither for telling me the killers were convicted. _Why_ did you?"

Coulson's eyes were still on her, she could _feel _them, no doubt fucking _kind _and _compassionate, _but it only caused her stomach to somersault.

Jesus fucking _Christ,_ couldn't she just get a minute of goddamned _peace?!_

"It's got to do a lot with this," Coulson explained patiently and at that, Vera did look up, her hard gaze meeting his and despite her will, _melting _a bit. "I… I'm really happy to have you here, Nica, you know that, but… I know the trial has played an important part in your decision to join. I would let you leave if you wanted to go back."

There had been several moments in Veronica's life when her mind went completely and entirely blank_._ The moment the words left Coulson's lips, she couldn't recall any of them.

Her brain decided to simply… stop working all together, millions of exclamation points and question marks flying in her dull skull, bouncing off of the walls, a low buzz in her ears making her deaf to the world. Her vision turned white as if for emphasis.

Fucking _blank._

The strangest sensation of floating she couldn't compare to anything she had felt before – had she ever felt _anything at all? – _overtook her body.

She only blinked at a firm grip on her hands, her gaze following the point of contact on instinct, the joined hands appearing in her vision.

"_-ra? Nica?"_

In a haze, she instinctively looked up, a man's face coming into focus, his mouth moving, forming words she had trouble understanding.

'_Lock it away. Lock it away for later,' _echoed in her ears and Nica gasped, air entering her lungs in a hefty inhale, the oxygen tasting like heaven after hours of being underwater.

She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on her breathing, her rapid heartbeat pounding in her temples, her head spinning slightly.

_Stop it. FUCK, just stop. It. You can do better than this. _

Nica gritted her teeth, replaying Coulson's words, slowly revising their meaning.

She was free of the burden of her past. She could leave and go on with her life.

_Right._

The idea was laughable to say at least. _Absurd _even.

"Go back?" she echoed his words, her voice coming out raspy, her throat scratchy. She pulled her hands from under his and he let her. "I'm not… I'm not coming back, Coulson. I… I appreciate the offer, but I can't. This article, what Barry Allen did- I appreciate it, alright, tracking down the real killers, shining a light on a huge conspiracy, tearing it out, possibly with its roots, but… it doesn't give people _peace_ as the article claims. It's opening old wounds. Now people are sure that Matt and— _Matt_ was murdered because he stepped on someone's toes, and two deaths followed for nothing. They made me a _martyr_ – a woman, who suffered for being wrongly accused on top of losing her husband, woman who suffered enough to take her own life. That's not peace – those who cared about me, they'll just hear people talk about it over again, about lives being lost – _in vain."_

She honestly had no clue how she choked all of the words out; but every single one of them was true.

"I'm sorry, Nica," Coulson said sympathetically, lamely even. Then again – what else was left to say here?

This was supposed to stay in the past. Some skeletons were meant to remain hidden, these ones especially. She was just glad it wasn't _her_ photo there. She really hoped her photo wasn't in _any_ media covering the shocking revelations of the investigation Barry Allen had led.

Which, what theFUCK_, again._

Nica cleared her throat, feeling a completely new sensation settling in her bones – and she buried it deeply for later to come back to it; preferably after a heavy work-out session and half a bottle of cheap whiskey.

"I died, Coulson. People don't come back from that… well, in the normal world anyway," she added, rising to her wobbly feet, making her way out of the office, even if it seemed to be spinning. She wasn't sure she was walking straight, but she didn't care. She just needed to _get out. _"Thanks for telling me." _Not._

When her fists were ponding at the heavy bag in rapid staccato, with brutal strength, she wished the noise would be louder. Not even the loud music blaring in her ears helped, her mind still frantic despite her best efforts to turn it off.

It didn't make any goddamn sense. Why would Barry – and the team, because she doubted he would have done anything without his team – be so stuck on the case? Sure, he probably believed she was innocent, hell, probably _knew_ it, even if they didn't know each other exactly well, but _why?_

Yes, perhaps he felt sorry and was determined to find the real killers, but he was the Flash. They were _Team Flash. _ They sure as fuck had bigger fishes to fry, villains to catch, enough shit to deal with.

Maybe they felt some… some misplaced guilt for not working on it sooner, _faster,_ fast enough to prevent her supposed suicide? That still didn't explain shit. It wasn't like it would bring her back to life, was it?

Or… did they think she was alive? Did they suspect anything?

That was impossible. Barry Allen, surviving a lightning bolt and gaining superspeed might have been a definition of impossible himself, however Nica was certain that SHIELD had left no trace to follow. They couldn't have been on her scent.

She could not even think about what would happen if they _were_, she couldn't allow herself to go down _that_ rabbit hole. What if they were? What if they wanted her to come back to her life? Would she really be able to live normally again? How? With who? Would she tell anyone or would she try to start over _again-_

Nica hit the bag with all she had, a desperate angry sound leaving her lips. Fuck everything. Fuck everyone.

Why hadn't they let it go? Why couldn't her mind just- shut. The fuck. Up!

Nica _needed_ to let it go.

She even forced the words through her gritted teeth, each word followed with a punch harder than the previous one.

"_Let. It. Go."_

She delivered a pushkick, stopping the bag with her knee when it bounced and came back at her again and she continued to place punches in punishing pace.

She just needed to be grateful that Matt's killers had been revealed and caught. Justice had been done. That was what was important, that was the only thing that mattered.

That was the only thing Matt always wanted. Justice always had been higher on his value list than law even. Serving justice was the sole purpose of his life. She should be grateful.

So why there were tears mixing with sweat on Nica's face? And what was the purpose of _her_ life?

God, if she only _knew._

-.-.-

I'm a dummy who forgot to post the chapter here… so now you have two :) If you wonder about the uncharacteristically slow updates, check out my tumblr or AO3, I write plenty of reader-inserts I cannot post here.

Stay safe and sane.

Love AAM


	9. Classified

**8\. Classified**

_\- Few months ago -_

Being a spy meant knowing that intel was everything.

Being a spy meant never dismissing a piece of information as useless.

Being a spy meant not to trust anyone, because there was _always_ an ulterior motive.

Being a spy meant catching a wind of a seemingly random CSI from Central City digging into Matt Murdock's – Daredevil's – murder months after it was supposedly resolved and growing suspicious an instant.

Being a spy meant finding out who exactly Barry Allen was and just how strange Matt Murdock's death was, supposedly carried out by his own loving _pregnant_ wife.

Being a spy meant searching the web, hacking and making connections where others wouldn't, hours spent with a gaze frantically flickering between photos and files and finding out that not one single picture of Veronica Machackova/Murdock was to be found on the Internet.

For Natasha Romanoff, being a spy meant realizing just how shady Vera's suicide was and not leaving the case rest until solved.

-.-.-

Natasha Romanoff didn't have friends; she had convenient acquaintances she might be able to turn to when in need or turn her back to shall she find them of no further use – or should they run further to the darker side than she was willing to reach out to.

Yet, she might go as far and call Steve Rogers an almost friend. He was a colleague, he was a symbol radiating too much of righteousness to stay around for too long, but he was also fun, genuine as much as he could and hid much more behind the shield of vibranium and his blue eyes than an average folk would guess. Natasha was no common folk and try as it might, she would still care for him more than she was willing to admit. And there was something about him that caused her to be more open to the possibility of _trusting_ _him,_ a mistake that spy should never make.

It annoyed the hell out of her. It also felt kind of nice.

So when he came back from a mission and she heard that they – not _he,_ even though he would probably say otherwise – lost a man, she gave him some space before barging in, conveniently lining two things she wanted to do; to wait until he unwind a bit and to wait until it would seem too clingy to go see him with… _this issue._

Natasha managed to slip through the door of his office – not bothering with knocking – without Steve noticing until she closed it with a click. And truly, that was tell-tale of him sulking, him losing the proper sense of his surroundings.

There were rumours around SHIELD that he had once been told, by the very scientist who gave him the body needed to become Captain America, that he needed to stay a good man, rather than a soldier. Mostly, Steve managed to balance the two, the good man irritatingly winning over.

What Natasha saw now was a leader, a good leader, but a better man, still mourning the death of his subordinate.

Natasha sighed when he looked up at the noise she made, looking startled almost.

His fighting instinct dropped as quick as it kicked in when he recognized her and his face turned from worried to unimpressed, simply staring her down. Too bad for him; this wasn't a social call (perhaps only a bit?), she sure wasn't about to apologize for interrupting his wallowing.

"Still onto the mission two days ago, huh?" she called out sympathetically, gripping the folder in her hand tighter, only to meet his sigh when she headed to the chair opposite to him without being asked to.

Natasha Romanoff did not get as far as she had got (a bit farther than she was proud of) by being polite and asking for permission.

"Romanoff."

The blond closed the laptop and slowly reached to massage the bridge of his nose, obviously tired; as if the signs she noticed before – dark circles under his eyes, more-than-usual ruffled hair, not perfectly ironed t-shirt, hunched shoulders – weren't enough to tell her how he felt.

She should probably take it easier on him; he did seem exhausted and the death of the agent truly was haunting him. She felt an unpleasant jab in her stomach when she examined his form again, the feeling of compassion almost surprising her.

"_Hey," _Natasha greeted him before plopping into the chair opposite to him, leaving the hardwood desk between them. "I heard what happened. I'm sorry. I'd say it wasn't your fault, but something tells me it wouldn't make a difference to you."

Steve looked up at her almost lazily and unconvincingly raised one corner of his lips. "Thanks anyway."

Natasha would never admit it, but she was a tiny bit proud for drawing at least that response from him; she quickly cooled the warmth spreading in her chest. Also, did she mention she liked his wry sense of humour? Why was he so damn easy to become friends with? Spy didn't have friend, dammit!

"However, I'm here to distract you," she announced, subtly waving the folder, laying in in front of him on the desk. "Here."

Steve squinted at her, but obediently – because he was a very polite person besides being a little piece of shit – reached for the folder, opening it. His brows furrowed when he started looking through what were mostly wedding photos.

"What am I looking at?"

"Don't really have to look at it, honestly. I… keep an eye on few people, it's what I do," Natasha explained simply, not quite wanting to go into details. Details weren't important – not these ones anyway, she could spare Rogers the process of her getting information. He wouldn't be a fan anyway. Instead, she breathed in and out, slowly, watching every micro-expression on his face when she asked the question. "Steve… do you remember Veronika Macháčková?"

By the way his whole body stiffened, Natasha could tell he did; it was a pointless question with his eidetic memory anyway. Of course he remembered, he remembered everything.

Still, he gave a little nod in response.

"Well, I did keep an eye on her too…" She supposed it wasn't exactly a secret. She had told Steve about the whole save Daredevil from an induced coma situation and they had received the invitation for a wedding. What she wasn't sure that was getting through – and she was generally hoping it wasn't – was that she had been sort of rooting for the couple; they were endearingly weird and strangely cute in their own way. And she had liked the woman – she had spunk, determination, conviction. She was most definitely not a murderer, especially her husband's murdered, but that was a whole new can of worms to open. "And I got a wind of someone gathering intel on Matt Murdock's murder again, possibly in hope for a new hearing, getting the case… reopened because of new evidence."

Steve seemed utterly confused, looking at some more of the wedding photos. They were of all sorts, but the person appearing the most frequently was a brunet, a relatively tall and thin guy.

"Who's that?"

"Bartholomew Henry Allen, a CSI from Central City. Not that important, he's the one who'll be presenting the evidence I believe. What's more important is that I-" Natasha silently braced herself for the judgement, "I-eh, I hacked Theresa Gratton's and Jessica Jones' laptops, both friends of Vera, and found these photos there. But anywhere online, on any servers… there are none. At least not ones of Vera."

Steve's forehead creased as he eyed Natasha shortly before returning his gaze to the photo of the smiling newlyweds with all the guests, and he visibly gulped.

"What are you saying?" he asked, his tone… strange to say at least.

Well, she definitely got his attention. That was good; though not surprising, because from what Natasha had seen, Steve had quite taken a liking in the couple too.

"I'm saying that someone took their sweet time deleting any digital traces of her existence."

Steve remained silent, shifting minutely in his seat, hunching over the photos as if they could tell him more. The corner of his lips twitched, but not in an amused way.

"People don't do that for fun," Natasha supplied, unsure whether he wasn't reacting to not quite understanding what exactly that meant. "What more, people aren't _able to_ do that, not just anyone. It requires quite specific skillset and resources to delete someone from the internet. It's practically impossible. Call me crazy, but I think someone is covering her past and that can only mean one thing. I think that Vera is alive."

Steve's reaction caused Natasha's heart to beat faster; mostly because there was barely any reaction at all.

She would expect his head to snap to her, to question her claim at instant, demanding why would she think that. Instead, his fingers twitched as they were laid on the printed photos, the muscles in his jaw clenching visibly and no word left his lips pressed into a thin line.

And Natasha's heart skipped a beat when an incredible realization dawned to her.

The thing was, Steve Rogers was a good man, a good leader and a pretty good soldier.

He was barely a half-decent spy, because he couldn't lie for shit and his body-language gave him away almost every time.

"…but you already knew that," Natasha whispered incredulously, more of a statement than a question.

It took a lot of willpower not to show just how indignant she was not only about the fact that Rogers knew – he might be a captain, but she still had higher clearance than him and she'd be damned if she didn't think _SHIELD_ might have something to do with this case –, but also about the fact that he didn't bother to share the information. It wasn't that it was essential for a mission or anything, it was just that- yeah, she might have been rooting for the peculiar pair of dumbasses and she had a distant feeling that he _knew_. And she really thought he was an almost friend. Well, so much for that.

To be fair, if she was right – and she was, Rogers practically just confirmed it – than it wasn't his secret to share.

Still, it was a bummer and Natasha was _not _pleased.

Steve sighed, shortly meeting Natasha's eyes, his own filled with what could only be regret and a wordless apology. He didn't try to deny it; Natasha was grateful for that, at least he had the decency to show he didn't consider her entirely stupid.

"Her alias is Nicole Davis," he revealed in low voice, heavy with secrecy and resignation.

Natasha wasn't proud of herself for her reaction, but she had real trouble holding the remark back. He even knew her alias?! Alias as in for a witness protection program or for-and what the-

"And you know that because…"

"Because I found her pinned under a block of concrete the size of a small car – in the rubble of the base. The base where the virus we should have retrieved was. On my mission_ two days ago."_ Steve finally looked her in the eye fully, gaze intense and speaking thousands of words. "She's with SHIELD."

-.-.-

Few months after that, precisely 12 hours after a trial in which Veronica Murdock was proved innocent and an enormous conspiracy surrounding Matthew Murdock's death had been revealed, the true killer and associates arrested, a blond female officer stepped out of the elevator of the CCPD building, a bleakly yellow envelope in her hand.

She was chewing one of the sweet chewing gums for kids, the ones which were perfect for creating bubbles. She blew one as she approached the reception desk.

"Heya. I got some files for Allen? He in his lab?" she asked jovially, the officer at reception duty giving her a disgusted look as she burst another bubble. The blonde grinned.

"Yeah. You've got some nerve. Singh hates chewing gums," he stated, watching with interest as she blew another and burst it. "Have one more?"

The corner of the younger officer's lips quirked as she slid one wrap to the receptionist. "Thanks for the heads-up."

The blond woman grinned mischievously as she noticed a motion sensor close to the kid's lab, no doubt alerting him when someone was arriving. She wondered what he was doing there – using his powers? Not even being there, speeding in when he got an alert someone was approaching? She avoided the sensor on purpose, just to have a little fun. The world didn't provide enough room for fun lately. Or ever.

True to her expectation, the CSI was sitting in a chair by what looked like portable centrifuge and moving his hands so fast that they were only a blur.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Allen."

Bartholomew Henry Allen yelped, the vial from his hand falling and shattering on the floor. She rolled her eyes. This was the brilliant CSI and the one guy who got hit by lightning and gained superpowers? _Why._

"What the hell?" the kid cried out, rising from his chair.

"You should be more careful. Someone could catch you using your speed and then you would have some explaining to do," she noted slyly, amused at his shocked expression and his wild hand gestures.

"What— what are you talking-"

"Shake it, Speedy-boy. I don't have all day. I've got you a file on Nicole Davis."

"Who the hell is— and who are y-" The kid froze, observing her head to toe incredulously, focusing on her face. She raised her eyebrow when his eyes grew wide. Well, at least he recognized her unlike the guy at the reception desk… or anyone, really. Perhaps he wasn't entirely hopeless after all. _"Whoa! _Natasha Romanoff?! What-"

"Yeah. I'm me. Good observation skills. I won't tell anyone about you super-speed. Can we move on?"

An astonished chuckle escaped his lips and Natasha restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Though… alright, she might have been a bit flattered. She just needed to get out asap; the longer she was here, the bigger the chances someone at SHIELD would find out she was being _neposlushnaya devushka_.

Also, the longer she stayed in this guy's presence, the higher the chances she would punch him in his teeth for what she practically sure he had done.

Stupid _men-children-_

"But— yeah, okay," he shook his head, his voice still slightly high-pitched. "This is insane. Who's Nicole Davis?"

Natasha strode to him, shoving the envelope into his hands and jerking her chin, encouraging him to look over the file.

"You tell me."

Sparing her an unsure look, he examined the envelope with mistrust for few seconds before his stare turned to her again.

"How— just hold on a second. How do you know who I am? Why are you here? Why are you giving me a file of some… Nicole Davis?" he sputtered and Natasha could cry as they were back to square one again.

To be fair, she was the one to show up without explanation, she should have expected it. (She did. She just hoped it could be avoided in order to save time. They had wasted enough of it already.)

So she sighed and laid it out as short and simple as she could.

"Saw you on the news, proving Veronika Macháčková's – or Murdock's – innocence. And on her wedding photos. I was a friend of sort, I'm sure you know that. This is me, being a Good Samaritan. So just open it," Natasha instructed him, her eyes urging him to hurry.

Allen obediently pulled out the records of the Nicole Davis, flipping through it swiftly, faster than any human should if he wanted to actually read it. Sweet.

He seemed perfectly clueless though. "What-"

"There's no photo, I know, but look at the recruitment date,"

He blinked furiously, but followed her instruction again. "Not following. Also, is that a SHIELD classified file?"

"It is. And I broke a lot of rules to get it, because it's _highly_ classified. Like level nine classified."

"I- I don't know what that means," he sputtered, looking around the room as if he was expecting a SWAT or STRIKE TEAM to burst through the windows to shoot him on sight just for holding that folder. At least he got the message clear.

"Right. Well," she hummed and went to explain why she was truly here. "The point is: did you know Veronika's photos disappeared from the digital world?"

"What? What are you-" His lips parted and his eyes refocused on the date mentioned before a shocked exhale following. "It's only two days after her suicide."

"Exactly. This recruit? She has no history. Clean record. Nothing about where she came from."

"And you think- are you saying that-" he stuttered, his hand rising to run through his already messy hair and if Natasha was hearing right… that was definitely hope in his voice. His eyes turned glassy as he went to cover his mouth, turning away from her, his face slightly paler. Good. At least he felt guilty for what they had done. _Idiots._ "_Oh my god._ Is that even possible?_"_

_Asked the guy who was hit by lightning and gained superpowers._

"Vera's photos all disappeared, but I have one photo of Nicole Davis," Natasha offered, opening the secret lining of the envelope.

A gasp followed by a soft chuckle escaped his lips.

"Oh my— holy-where- when was this taken?" he asked her, clutching the photo like a holy grail, his eyes indeed glistening. Damn her soft heart, soft for people who prayed for redemption; working with Rogers had finally took its toll it seemed… and then there was the fact that she knew what it felt like to have blood on her hands, willingly or not.

"Brazil. A week ago," Natasha said simply, minding her soft tone.

"Brazil? A _week _ago?"

"Yes. And I have it from a _very _reliable source that this is who you think it is. That's all I know… I gotta go now."

Not waiting for Allen's response, she turned on her heels, already on her way out.

"Wait!" he called after her and she sighed, eyeing him over her shoulder.

"There's nothing to wait for. You didn't get this from me, you understand?" she emphasized since she spared him few more seconds in her presence. "Do what you think is the best with the file, but don't show it to anyone. _Unless_ you find it absolutely necessary for them to know."

Even when barely facing him, she saw the shock written all over his face, horror even.

"You-"

_Could break all of your jaws, you fucking idiots!_

"I know a lot of things, Mr. Allen. I can't always be on time to act upon them. I believe you're familiar with that concept. But maybe you have a chance to fix it for once. Goodbye."

With these words, she spun on her heels and walked out of the door, not looking back once. Her job was done; now it was on them.

Natasha really hoped they wouldn't screw up this time.

If they did, she had their address.

-.-.-  
Notes:  
I'm terrible at predictions, but it's safe to say we're in the second half on the fic. Might be entering the last third…? Not sure about that one, depends on how wordy I'll get. (Okay, scratch that, I think the epilogue will be very long… so the last third and the epilogue? Egh, never mind…)


	10. Everything We See, Everthing We Hear

**9\. Everything We See, Everything We Hear**

"You've been staring at these for hours. Stop obsessing over it, Nica. Whoever they were… they knew what they were doing and didn't want to be caught," Coulson bargained.

He had stopped by her cubicle, seeing the door opened ajar, and found her crumpled over her laptop, headphones in, replaying the surveillance records from their latest mission.

Nica sighed, pulling out one headphone to hear him better, and paused the video, only to meet with his eyes tired and worried, eyebrows drawn together in concern as he leaned onto the doorframe and watched her being completely engrossed in the footage.

Consumed by her work.

It had ben several weeks since Coulson told her about Barry Allen's mission for justice and deep down, Nica knew that she dived into kicking ass and taking names even further, as if it hadn't already become the sole purpose of her life. It wasn't healthy, she knew that too.

She just didn't care.

On top of that, this was truly, _truly _bugging her.

"It just doesn't make any sense!" she complained and gestured towards footage from the security camera they – Skye – had hacked into before taking it down entirely. "Whoever they were, they must have known the moment the surveillance was down – possibly waiting until we did it for them, avoiding the cameras until we turned them off. _But,_ they left the artifact _and_ the bomb, _pointing us_ their directions. It's like… it's like they wanted to help, but wanted to do it from the shadows."

The team had been assigned a mission to retrieve another artifact from Asgard – one that no one had a clue what was for, but certainly was of interest of several dangerous people while in possession of a private collector who turned out to be even worse and hence had to be retrieved.

The thing was, half of the security guards slash bad guys, were down before the team even entered the building, Nica had barely had to fight off like three of them _and_ Ward discovered a path of clothes leading him to a previously hidden bomb, the locked closet broken through with a metal bar.

And yet, the artifact was still in place, untouched. And it was driving Nica up the wall, because _what the hell._

"Why? Why hide? If they were friends, they could show their faces. If they were enemies, they wouldn't have helped… unless they were trying to earn our trust and betray us later– in which case they would want to reveal themselves as well. And why leave the bomb? If they wanted to help, why not disarm it? What are we missing? Was there something else? Was there something valuable to them that they got their hands on and we didn't know about? It looks like nothing is missing from the vault! It's just…. ugh. It's driving me _crazy."_

"I noticed," Coulson mumbled as he crossed his arms on his chest, eyeing Nica carefully, as if she was about to snap at him. It was not a good feeling, to be looked at like that. Like she was… unstable. To be fair, Coulson of all people knew the best that she had a lot going on under the surface. "And I understand, I don't think we should just leave it either. But give it time. Look at it later, distance yourself a little. Now you're just staring at the same things over and over again with no chance of finding something new. _If_ there is something to see. Or… hear," he sighed and gestured towards the headphone in her hand. He smiled at her then, kind, causing her frantic heart to settle for a bit. "Go to sleep, Nica."

And with that, she smiled at him back as he retreated from the space of her cubicle, sliding her door shut.

The thing was, while she felt slightly calmer, her visceral reaction subduing, her mind could _not_ rest. How could it? They could be missing something essential, something that had the potential to blow into their face later.

Nica might have still been reserved, but the team, as much as she would deny it – or not – was her family. Her _flock. _And if she could prevent anything coming back to bite the team in their asses, she would do it.

But goddammit, she needed to find it first.

"Something to see… or hear," Nica muttered under her breath, hating how little audio was provided, only on few cameras. Only on their comms. Had their 'allies' hacked the comms? Could they do it? It seemed unlikely, considering the fact they left the cameras intact.

Nica closed her eyes, carefully massaging her eyelids, feeling considerate burn as she had been awake for too long, staring at the screen. She could feel the exhaustion taking over, in a strange contrast to the buzz of her mind. At least few more minutes…

She replayed the footage over and over, gaze frantically moving over the screen, talking to herself about what she saw so far in a low mumble, barely realizing she was practically speaking with their culprits with no answer in sight.

"How are you avoiding all the cameras, making the guards follow you from view? How are you avoiding _us_… can you hear us? How many are you? Did you watch us, perfectly hidden? _Where?_ You can't be more than three, we couldn't miss _that much… _right? You didn't put down the surveillance by yourself, so you don't like computers…? That's… weird. You don't disarm the bomb either. Couldn't you figure out that that all you needed was to cut the yellow wire? Can't blame you for that…. You beat them all up, no guns or tranquilizers, kinda caveman-like…. or like me. You don't like guns either, huh? Can you get any weirder and more mysterious?"

She rubbed her forehead tiredly. She really was getting sleepy and sloppy, staring dully at the screen. But there was just _something_, something telling her she had to figure it out, because it held great importance.

Was she developing spy instincts? Was that a thing?

With a whine, Nica gave up on trying to profile their frenemy or whatever, and re-watched the tiny fraction of fights of her and her teammates caught on camera, but the images were not making any sense anymore.

Coulson might have had a point, she could barely see now, she needed to rest and look at it with fresh eyes. _If_ there was something to see, as he had brilliantly remin-

Her blood crystalized in her veins, her heart stopping, breath caught in her chest. No, that was ridiculous- she was getting too tired to come up with something reasonable, that was- _but_-

Nica jumped to her feet, stiff from sitting in the same position for too long and paced down to the direction of the lab, heart pounding in her ribcage, so strongly she felt each beat in her temples. An unpleasant weight settled in her stomach, but that didn't stop her, pushing it aside momentarily.

"Fitz!" she called down as she was stepping down, finding the man of the hour yawning, his hand halfway to cover his mouth. He blinked at her as she met him in the doorway to the lab, tired surprise all over his face.

"Hey, Nica," he greeted her half-heartedly, narrowing his eyes at her before shaking his head and resuming his path to bed, Nica assumed. "I mean... goodnight."

Nica wavered, taken aback – he really must have been exhausted to call her her first name instead of 'Elsa' or 'Davis'. The surprise was enough to render her speechless for few seconds.

"Whoa, whoa, wait! I just have one question!"

He frowned at her, his eyes glassy and sleepy; she on the other hand, felt wired now, excited by her idea. She thought it might wake him up as well.

"Yes? Make it quick, Elsa?" Fitz pleaded, grumpy.

Fair enough, she guessed.

"Uhm. Okay. I hated physics, so maybe it's a complete nonsense," Nica started swiftly, causing him to frown harder at her. "I've been watching the footages we have-"

"Oh god, go to sleep, _you bloody workaholic!"_ Fitz interrupted her, an irritated exclaim punctuated by his hands dramatically thrown in the air. He spun on his heels, talking to her, but not. "This isn't normal. She's an alien. She was sent from space just to-"

"Fitz!" Nica couldn't but roll her eyes and shout after him, earning a- did he just stomp his foot before turning to face her again?

"What?!"

"I keep thinking about what we missed-"

"_Clearly-"_

"What if it was something we couldn't see? With our eyes? You know, like in a different wave len-"

Fitz raised his right hand meaningfully, palm against Nica. "Okay. Let me stop you right there. We scanned the place. You know that. I sent Dwarfs in. There was _nothing_ for them to see. If you want the records of that, please, suit yourself. They are in the lab. But I checked them already. Unless you can smell stuff from the footages or something, I recommend you to go to sleep. Now, goodnight, let the bugs bite you," he added sassily, unaware of just how much his words affected Nica, in a completely different way he had probably aimed to do so.

He showed her his back and still shaking his head, he walked away before she could think about a witty answer; she was too pre-occupied freaking out and wanting to bang her head against a wall for not figuring it out sooner.

_Of course. Of fucking course._

Their frenemies. It wasn't only that Nica and the team – _and the Dwarfs –_ were missing something about _them_. Their 'helpers' saw, heard, _smelled_, perceived, _whatever_ something the team hadn't _at the scene_. They must have been enhanced.

Holy shit.

The knowledge woke her up better than a cup of coffee spiked with whiskey. She downloaded the records from the lab computer, bringing it up to her cubicle with new vigour.

Enhanced. They were fucking enhanced. Like _senses_ enhanced, probably. She tried to ignore the pang – more like a stab with a knife twisting in the wound – at that. She found out that there were unofficial records, a register for enhanced individuals she obviously needed to look into- a register she didn't have access to, because it was level nine.

A scoff escaped her lips. Nica could only _dream_ of level nine. What was that? Natasha Romanoff level? Director Fury? She could never-

A slow hopeful smile spread her lips.

Well. Nica couldn't… but someone she knew could, couldn't they?

Rising to her feet, she slowly walked along the cubicles, listening for anyone being awake. She thanked heavens when she heard Skye's fingers still tapping on the keyboard. She bit her lip, knocking lightly on her door. The typing immediately stopped, the door sliding opening within five seconds, Skye's shocked face appearing, eyes wide at her night visitor.

She couldn't let out a word, just staring at Nica in her comfy but presentable clothes, while Skye herself already had a pyjama on… like a normal person.

"Uhm, hi," Nica greeted her nervously, an attempt at a smile tugging at her lips. "Sorry to bother this late-"

That seemed to unfreeze the poor hacker, a brief bewildered smile passing over her lips as well.

"Hey, no, no, it's okay. I wasn't... I wasn't asleep. Is everything okay?"

The obvious worry caused Nica to smile fully; she was really starting to like Skye. Almost dying does that to people, she guessed. _Or maybe it's just because she's who she is, you simply like _her_,_ a voice whispered in the back of Nica's head, and for once, she didn't bother to shush it.

"I was just wondering… do you think your can get access to some files… which I can't get into?" Nica asked hesitantly, seeing Skye's eyes go even wider.

"Uhm. Yeah… maybe? I mean, that depends. Why? What do you need?"

Nica worried her teeth over her lower lip. In her haste, she didn't think through _what_ exactly she would share with the younger woman who was clearly intrigued by her request.

Which Nica didn't blame her for in the slightest.

"It's just… something Fitz said got me thinking. I—" Nica sighed, looking around, feeling like a kid planning shenanigans her parents wouldn't be happy about, which was too accurate for her liking. "Promise not to tell Coulson?"

Skye's eyebrow rose, her head slightly tilting to side.

"Colour me interested. You want me to keep secrets from _Coulson_ with you, instead of him and you keeping secrets from _us_, that's new," Skye mumbled, impressed. And then she stiffened. "Sorry, that… wasn't a nudge, I wasn't trying to-never mind. Sure. Count me in. What do you need?"

"I think you have every right to nudge, just like I have the right to keep secrets," Nica remarked, fully honest this time, pointing a thumb in the general direction of her tiny bedroom. "Come with me?"

When Skye scanned Nica's cubicle, seeing the laptop, a notebook with few scribbled notes, the headphones and ruffled covers clearly not being used, she wolf-whistled lowly.

"Wow, you really can't let this go, can you?"

Nica smiled guiltily. "Fitz said something and with what I was thinking before… we are clearly missing something. Some profit the whoever who helped us had from today. Something we didn't notice at the scene. You know, outside of the visible spectrum. Outside the common hearing range."

"Okay. But Fitz sent his flying magical friends to sniff around, right? What could have they missed?" Skye wondered, sliding the door shut as Nica silently asked her to do so.

Nica knew one thing: if she wanted Skye's help – and she needed it – she must have been as clean as possible with her ideas, hopefully without fully revealing her past. She knew she could trust Skye. Well, she hoped so – she'd certainly rather confide _her_ in than Ward and Coulson.

Coulson was great and all, but he would get way too concerned if he find out what she was looking into, possibly not letting her.

So, Skye it was. Plus, she was pretty sharp and not just with her hacking skills.

"I don't know. But… I also don't know how much the tech can perceive. Maybe it was something Fitz-Simmons haven't thought of. Maybe it's something the sensors _can't_ scan, or something they aren't sensitive enough for."

Realization dawned on Skye's face, her expression lightening up. _Yep,_ pretty sharp she was. "And you think our mysterious buddies did. And you don't think it was thanks to a tech."

"Well, they didn't get rid of the surveillance by themselves, right? Didn't disarm the bomb – as if they didn't know how. Clearly they aren't exactly tech savvy."

"You think they have powers," Skye voiced the obvious, an incredulous smile on her face. "Which means they might be on the list of enhanced individuals."

"Exactly."

"Wow. Okay. For all we know, they could be invisible… heh, wouldn't that be cool?" Skye grinned, causing Nica to gulp at the idea. That would be… unfortunate to say at least. No, not cool at all. How do you catch an invisible- "But why don't you want Coulson to know? I mean, that's pretty mind-blowing."

_Because I was married to an enhanced individual, was _this_ close to having his dau-_

Vera swallowed against the lump in her throat, sighing, hushing the thought away. _Not the time._

It was _never_ the time, but that wasn't the point. Vera sure as hell wasn't about to tell Skye _this._

"It's a shot in the dark, Skye," Nica said instead, making a face, and hoping to sound persuasive. She never had been a good liar. "If I find something useful, I'll tell him, but now…"

She eyed the other woman cautiously, finding her attentive eyes on her face, trying to see past her façade. Nica was sure Skye succeeded; Vera and Coulson did bake things together, it was clear that they had grown relatively close and now Nica wouldn't tell him about such a possible breakthrough only because she had doubts about being right…? Yeah, Nica really had to get better at her excuses.

She held her breath when something flashed in Skye's eyes, curious, but amiable.

"Okay," Skye yielded, reaching for the laptop, nestling on Nica's bed. Nica smiled widely, keeping her mouth shut as Skye's fingers danced over the keyboard wildly and yet elegantly, putting it down in what could be two minutes. She handed Nica the laptop and smirked at the astonished chuckle leaving Nica's lips. "Here you go."

"Did I even mention how happy I am that you're on our side?" Vera blurted before she could stop herself, causing Skye to grin and wink at her. It warmed her heart, as much as she could try and tell herself that it didn't. "Thank you. Really."

"No problem. The more practice I get, the better," Skye shrugged, rising to her feet, dismissing her help as if it wasn't a big deal, when in fact, it was… enormous. "Good luck, Nica."

She never got the chance to leave.

"Skye?"

"Hm?" the woman looked at Nica, surprised that there was more. Probably even more surprised because she could see something… something way too open on Vera's face, so unusual for the 'cold' agent whose exterior was being slowly melted by the warmth of the team.

Skye had just been a great help to her, she was always nice to her even when Nica was giving everyone a cold shoulder… and she was _her flock._ She deserved some explanation, no matter how evasive.

"I know that I don't… I'm not exactly friendly and I don't share much about me," Vera whispered weakly, instantly noticing Skye's gaze softening, something she hated and revelled in at the same time… because she _missed_ a friend. "It's… there isn't much to say, but even less of it is pretty. I'm sorry that I'm like this, it's not that I don't trust you or something. I just… I think it's better for everyone if you don't know."

And by 'for everyone', she meant mainly herself, which Skye obviously easily read between the lines.

"We all have our demons. Hell, mine sure are something. You think we would judge you?" the hacker asked gently and Nica sighed and closed her eyes, gathering courage. Skye was definitely right on that one – her past was a mystery for great part and what she actually knew was pretty bloody.

Kinda like Vera's past – except where Skye's trauma came mostly from her childhood, her absent parents, Vera's came from the past few years, stocked with sea of blood, broken bones and broken hearts.

In some ways, she was more alike with Skye than she had realized at first – and Skye was more like… Terri than Vera was willing to admit. Which meant that Vera knew what she could start with when sharing. She was sure she would love it.

"No. I think you might feel sorry. And that's something I don't want. But… I can share something nice," Nica smiled, not missing the spark in Skye's eyes as she hesitantly planted her backside back on Nica's bed, both of them now sitting, the laptop momentarily forgotten. "I'm… not gonna share details, but… yeah, I've met Agent Romanoff aka Killer Thighs before."

Wide astonished grin spread Skye's lips, mischief twinkling in her eye.

"Did you, now? Would it happen to be at the same time you met Captain Rogers?"

Nica nearly choked on her spit. Really? Had the been _that _obvious? Or was this just Skye taking a wild guess?

"Uhm, why would you think-" Vera sputtered at which Skye rose a challenging eyebrow. _That obvious, then. _Vera felt something she hadn't for a very long time – a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Yeah-"

"_I KNEW it!" _Skye whisper-yelled, her right hand curled up in a fist and pumping in a victory gesture. "And did you two used to… you know?"

"Huh?"

Nica was genuinely not following – until Skye hinted a screwing motion, causing the heat in Nica's cheeks intensify.

"What?! No! Why would you think- no! Šmarja… no."

"Protesting a little too much?" Skye teased her with a devilish grin and despite herself, Vera caught her mind going to interesting places, which—_no. _Nope. "Also, was that Czech again? Never mind-"

"The thought is absurd!" Nica exclaimed. "He's—he's-"

A superhero, which… not the problem really, except why the hell should he even want to have anything to do with her, she was a trouble-magnet and that was about it, and he was a living legend, the embodiment of justice, technically about hundred years old too though he sure looked extremely fine for his official age, but-

"A national treasure? A superhero? Sex on legs? Like super-ripped? Or too much of a boy scout?"

"National treasure, yeah, let's—let's go with that…" Vera mumbled, shaking her, shaking off the absurd thought of Captain friggin' America _sleeping with her_, ever, with a _Czech_ girl, no less, the irony- "Just… plain girl. National treasure. And… _taken_ at that time anyway… why would you even think-"

Seriously though. _Why _on Earth would Skye think that?

The answer must have been obvious, because Skye gave Nica a strange look, silently asking her how could she _not_ see it.

"Because he had _zero_ pokerface," the younger woman said, adding a breathless _duh._ "The explosion? When you got… trapped there? That place was about to collapse on itself completely. But he just—he ran in there, going against any rational thought _or _protocol I think, as if his life depended on it."

Nica gulped at the image Skye was painting for her.

Had Steve really? Why? Was it because of her and the brief past that they shared or was it simply who he was?

"Well… you said it. He's a superhero. Possibly with less regard for his own safety than it's healthy. Didn't he crash a plane knowing it would kill him but save millions of others…?" Nica hummed noncommittally, trying not to let show just how much her mind was racing.

"It wasn't that, Nica. Remember the agent that died? Agent Diaz? Cap lost one of his own – but he was… really, like _really_ worried about you," Skye continued, not convinced.

"Maybe it was because there was still a chance with me? He couldn't do anything about the other guy from what I heard... or maybe… maybe he felt responsible, you know? Coulson kinda… passed the responsibility over us to him. Maybe he felt like he would be betraying Coulson's trust…"

"Mm… _or_ maybe he just cares about you. Considered that?"

Vera looked away bashfully, an unpleasant feeling in her stomach. That would be unwise of him; Vera had grown rather irresponsible when it came to her safety, willing to do a lot if it meant taking the enemy with her and remembering how she had dealt with the people from her past, rather deciding to leave them all behind? She was a walking advertisement for a person who shouldn't be cared about – but here she was, apparently.

Her family, obviously. Her friends from Czechia. Terri and company. The team. The heroes and vigilantes she had encountered during the years… whom she had done little for if anything at all, but for some reason, they decided she was worth the trouble she was attracting like the true trouble-magnet she was.

Was it her or were they really all so damn altruistic?

"It's… I'm pretty sure it was more about some twisted sense of responsibility. He looks like a guy who would take the blame for everything, even for what was not in his power to change…"

"Still not buying it," Skye sing-sang, making Nica smile despite the twist in her gut, the heavy thoughts popping up in her head.

She sighed and decided to continue sharing before she could get lost in her head completely.

"Well, he did know me before—I mean, he _met_ me before… before I joined SHIELD. Thinking about it, this wasn't the first time he carried me," she couldn't help the melancholy creeping into her voice "And that's all you're getting."

"That's just mean!"

"Take it or leave it," Nica shrugged and grinned.

"I can't believe you got to be in those dreamy arms _twice. Damn._ I would die for that…. Or, almost died. Who else?"

"…who else what?"

"Who else did you meet?" Skye asked as if it was obvious.

Nica gulped. Well. In for a penny, if for a pound… she had planned to share it anyway, she had just got side-tracked.

"Hawkeye. And Stark and Banner."

"Are you _for real?" _Skye squealed excitedly, her eyes almost glowing."So you met _the_ _Avengers _and didn't feel like sharing?!"

Nica couldn't but chuckle at the child-like enthusiasm, at the trued fangirl in Skye, the brightness of her personality coming out to play.

"Well… yeah."

"Wait, what about Thor? Did you actually _meet_ Thor and kept it for yourself during that… magical staff mission?!"

God, that felt like ages ago... Nica's very first mission. "No. No Thor."

"Damn. That's a shame, right?"

"A little, I guess," Vera agreed, but shrugged, not quite feeling it. It wasn't like she was counting how many heroes she had met… though there really had been quite a few, so perhaps she should. "They were intense enough even without him."

"Wait, you said that it was _before _you joined SHIELD… You're not gonna share the occasion, are you?" Skye asked, more of a statement than a question as her excited grin morphed into a sad smile.

Vera was grateful for that – not for disappointing her, but for clearly understanding.

"No. It wasn't under the best circumstances."

"Mm… okay, I'll let that one slide, if-" Skye raised her index finger meaningfully and Nica felt one corner of her own lips rise, _"IF_ you tell me what are they like?"

The pressure Nica didn't realize had built in her chest when Skye was about to ask for more eased. _That_ she could do easily, even if there hadn't exactly been much time to know them.

"Well, like I said. _Intense."_

-.-.-

It took few more minutes to share her experience, but to her surprise, it felt incredible to be able to just… talk to someone like this. Vera really had been missing a friend, more than she was willing to admit and Skye… Skye was easy. She listened with enthusiasm, focusing all of her attention, made cute and funny remarks and most importantly, she didn't seem to judge.

For the millionth time, Vera realized what Coulson had meant when he said he could appreciate diversity; the Bus team was full of different personalities with different approaches and while sometimes it created conflict, each of the team member made an impact on others, challenging their views and making them better people.

"Thanks, Nica. For… sharing."

Nica found herself smiling still, her cheeks actually staring to hurt with how long the smile stayed on. And it had been easy, like breathing, and it was all Skye. Vera couldn't find herself to regret opening up, not at all.

"I wasn't always a mutant between Ward and May, you know," she joked, causing Skye to chuckle, then grimace and only then nod thoughtfully.

"That's… surprisingly accurate," she concluded, earning a shrug in response. She rose to her feet, patting the still opened laptop. "Hope you'll find your lead. Goodnight."

"So do I. Thank you, truly. For your help. For listening. Everything, really. Have a good night, Skye."

And with that, Skye left along with the aura of normalcy and the good mood.

Nica dove back into the records, energized, even if the smile slipped from her lips.

She checked them all. Every single person. High-risk. Low-risk. Suspects in various crimes. Anyone close to having the ability to perceive something beyond human standards.

The only person she came across was the Devil of Hell's Kitchen of whom they suspected that he had enhanced senses. Truth to the Avengers' words, the identity of the vigilante was marked as unknown with only a list of suspects – Coulson knew more than was in the records then when he had recruited her. That was… almost soothing. The Devil's status however… status hurt to read. _Probably deceased._ Vera gulped, closing the laptop with too much force, tears of grief and frustration sprouting from her eyes.

All she found in the files was a knife to open up her not-so-old wounds and plenty of useless information.

"_Doprčič."_

Despite being worn to a bone – as she should, it was nearing 4 a.m. – she changed into workout clothes, moving to the garage… and gym. She hung up the punching bag. She hit and hit and _hit _the bag until her hands hurt, she kicked until she felt like she couldn't even raise her legs from the floor anymore. It wasn't that hard to reach that point, she was sore from the mission. Her whole body was aching, her muscles weary, her ribs tender, bruises from earlier blooming, but her mind was still buzzing uncomfortably.

In the end, she didn't even have the strength to put the bag down, nearly crawling up the stairs. She just shoved the documents aside, falling into bed, her hair still dripping water, her mind finally falling silent, just a white noise of the fluttering remnants of her thoughts.

She snapped her eyes open again in the early morning, her heartbeat rapid, only one thought in her head.

Coulson had been right.

She had been looking at it rigidly, she had been forgetting to consider new angles. She had assumed that the helpers had found what they had been looking for during the mission, leaving with it, while in reality they might have been looking for it and leave when realizing it hadn't been there.

_Or._ There was one more option; a scary one, a breath-taking one, one that only occurred to her thanks to the reminiscence of the strange affinity of Captain Rogers – Steve – to her, at least according to Skye.

The mysterious people weren't after something; it didn't have to be a _thing_ they valued as she had phrased it earlier. It could have been some_one_.

Vera opened the laptop rapidly, replaying the videos again. And then she saw it, just for the briefest second, so so easily missed.

She would swear her heart stopped beating. She couldn't find her voice, she couldn't even breathe in properly, the world spinning. She stared at the frozen frame, the picture blurry with the lowest quality possible, but she was suddenly convinced she was right.

Her mind raced- older records. She needed to check older records too, the ones from the Dwarfs included. Because all of sudden, she was confident this wasn't the first time their mysterious _helpers_ appeared.

The more she was looking through the old videos, the more nauseous she felt, because the 'shot in the dark' turned into a real thing and but she sure as fuck wasn't telling Coulson _or_ Skye or anyone for that matter.

Honestly, she had no fucking clue what to do with her revelation; there was only one way to deal with the information at the moment anyway.

Vera burst into tears, experiencing anger and sorrow in a way she had never felt before, setting her whole body aflame, burning in her throat as bile rose to it and she was choking on her sobs, in her eyes as it felt like she didn't have tears to cry anymore, in her heart that felt like drenched in gasoline and then set on fire, yet somehow still beating— the onslaught of emotions was so intense Vera thought it would tear her apart.

And it just might.

-.-.-  
_Notes:  
Insert wiggly eyebrows. _

_(Also, I'm sorry it's taking me so long to write new chapters, but apparently, that's a new normal to me – thank you, if you're still here. And sorry for neglecting with updates)_

_Thoughts?_


	11. Who We Really Are

**10\. Who We Really Are**

Karma was a vicious bitch, Vera thought, but sometimes, it deserved to be praised. Sometimes fate kicked a person from the edge of a metaphorical pool and shouted 'swim!'; occasionally, it held the person under water for a bit for a good measure; other times, it threw them a rescue rope.

Vera wasn't kidding anyone, aware that after the recent breakthrough and opening up to Skye, she had made a U-turn and turned into an Ice Queen again – but it was for a very good reason, i.e. keeping herself from falling apart or exploding.

She had been truly angry at first; more than she had ever been in her life and she failed to find words to describe the depth of that nauseating sensation; 'soul-eating' had seemed to be the closest. She had been grieving too, for all the things lost, but then, the only feeling that remained was… emptiness.

Vera felt _numb_.

And yet, when she had been intently listening to the intel given for their next mission, she had found a spark of something in her chest, a feeling blooming in her ribcage, a plan already forming in her head. She couldn't believe her luck. A relatively long-term assignment with her practically isolated and in potential danger? She wouldn't be able to come out with a better opportunity even if she tried.

Now? Now she was lying in a strange bed, huge and too comfortable for her comfort, a sensation that had lost familiarity a long time ago if she had ever even slept in a bed luxurious as this one.

And the truth was, no matter how much bravado she had showed off, she was… _scared._ She was worrying that she might be wrong, afraid that she would die, terrified that she would fuck this up and many more people would die too.

But there were no take-backs. There was no way to run away from _this._

Vera squeezed her eyes shut and rolled around in the cushions, hiding her head under the covers as if it could muffle the intrusive voice of her grim thoughts.

-.-.-

"Nikolay Kuznetsov, a businessman with fondness for physics and enough money on his bank accounts to buy a country or three. Born 13th October 1978 as an only child, mother died in labour. His father, however, already had money in spades and sent him to the best boarding schools in Russia. Kuznetsov graduated both MEPhI and Harvard at the age of 20. He made his own fortune by building nuclear power plants and investing into research to make the reactions more efficient and of course, by some clever navigation through the stock market. However, he was always believed to be selling intel on the progress of nuclear research to both Russia and America, perhaps other parties interested, and to possibly have an established position on a weapons black market," Skye recited from the files from Coulson she had put up on the holograms, several photos of their target in the middle. "Real charmer, isn't he?"

Nica sighed, while Skye's eyebrows jumped suggestively and her eyes roamed the team.

"Indeed," Simmons uttered sarcastically, exchanging a look with Fitz.

"Our sources undercover reached out with the information that a bomb of an unseen damage potential was being built in one of his labs in Minnesota and now it's finished and ready for use or for sale. However, a spy laid his life to share that in the close circle of Kuznetsov's acquittances, the whispers are that he plans to use it himself. What for, we don't know, but apparently, he plans to give himself a birthday present. The bomb might be set off in a week."

Nica winced involuntarily – a man died and yet all they knew was that the danger from Kuznetsov was imminent. Sure, the file on the target was rather thorough it seemed, but still; someone lost their life for _this _little_. _

_Then again, people died for less, didn't they?_

"His security system is crazy. Apparently, this guy is downright paranoid – and I mean that, it's in his psych eval-"

"He has a shrink?" Ward interjected, earning a raised eyebrow from May at his choice of words. "What? We all thought that."

No one dared to either agree or disagree.

"Yes," Coulson confirmed instead of Skye. "Our man was able to retrieve some of his medical files. Could be useful for us, because there aren't many ways of breaking the security measures in place without getting personal."

"Forgive me, Sir, I can see this is urgent… but why did _we_ get this mission? It isn't our usual territory," Simmons asked reluctantly and Coulson smiled mildly, with a drop of sourness to his expression.

"You're right. It's because one of his known associates is an old friend of ours. They shared fascination for one element; gravitonium."

"Ian Quinn," Ward stated the obvious and Nica's heart skipped a beat – in both anger and excitement as a jolt of energy through her veins set her blood aflame.

She couldn't deny she wanted to jump into any mission in a first place – but getting back at the son of a bitch who almost killed Skye? Nica couldn't _fucking_ wait_._

"Yes. Fury is being generous and offers us a chance to get back at him, at least in a way," Coulson supplied.

"Well, colour me grateful," May grunted, uncrossing her arms and taking a step forward. "If I can take down one son of a bitch, I happily will."

Hums of agreement sounded around the room and Nica found herself humming along, even though an uncomfortable tug at her gut alerted her that she would have to take a radical stand should she be the one to play the crucial role.

And she really, _really_ wanted this guy for herself for more reasons than one. And if she was about to be rather vicious about her ways, she thought she truly was worth of being cut some slack.

"Glad to hear we're on the same page," Coulson exclaimed, checking on each of the member of his team individually; Nica followed his gaze and found Skye seemingly a shade paler than before. However, the determination in her eyes made up for it. Nica could relate; facing an old 'buddy' was terrifying, but damn, wasn't it worth it in the end. "However, we have to be smart about this when we infiltrate his close quarters. And there is no guarantee we can extract the agent involved… and we have to figure out what 'involved' means."

"Seems clear to me," Nica remarked before she could stop herself, her gaze fixated on the picture of Kuznetsov. Well, a least he wasn't terribly looking… .She could feel everyone's eyes on her, blatantly ignoring it. "You want to stop him from what he's about to do. He's apparently the only one who can do it… or we'll at least have to get close enough for Skye to get the right access."

"Well, thank you, Captain Obvious," Fitz muttered under his breath.

"There is literally no reason for him to stop it himself. We'll just have to clear the path for me-"

"We can create a reason," Nice glanced at Skye, a brief flicker of an apology as she interrupted her.

"I assume you have one in mind," Ward noted, tilting his head curiously.

"I do, actually. It's surprising what a man would do to get attention – to get a woman to love him."

"…I'm not sure that would work," Skye questioned, a visible frown forming between her brows.

"Well, it might," May opposed and Nica smiled at her gratefully, a hint of hope lighting up in her chest, soon followed by another uncomfortable shift in her abdomen following.

The thought of playing courtesan was making her sick to her stomach, but perhaps she could play it smart and safe. Well, as safe as possible when dealing with a man like Kuznestov.

She gulped when she felt Coulson's searching gaze on her, hesitantly meeting it; a spark of recognition flashed in his eyes, a scowl twisting his expression as he realized that her intentions were much more than professional. While he couldn't possibly know her motivation precisely, he knew just enough to disagree.

And he did.

"Nica, have a word with me-"

"You know I'm right," she protested instantly, everyone else shifting in their position, sensing the sudden tension in the briefing room.

No one spoke another word as Nica straightened in her posture fully, anchored to show her unwavering determination, and started right back into Coulson's discontent face. Several emotions crossed over his features, his frown deepening with each inhale and exhale.

"Let's just… clear things up," Fitz interrupted the glaring match at last, theatrically stepping between Coulson and Nica. "You want to create a love interest for him? Within a week or so, no less? You're joking."

Nica finally averted Coulson's gaze in order to shoot Fitz an annoyed look. Peripherally, she noticed May doing the very same.

Nica sighed, fighting hard not to roll her eyes.

"So far, we agreed that we need a way of getting through the insane security. Without pushing him to pull the trigger. He'll be extra cautious after finding a mole. So, here you go: a love interest," Nica elaborated on her thought, one not everyone seemed to agree with.

But it appeared that May did, so Nica counted that as a real win.

Also, she couldn't help the little surge of pride at being approved by _Melinda May,_ agent and pilot extraordinaire.

"Oh, right. Wonderful. That will do then. We have a murderous psychopath with a world's fortune, he could blow up a country with one single click and, guess what, ladies? He's single. Anyone interested?" Fitz snarked, his sass subduing as Skye zoomed at the information in the file that Kuznetsov would be hosting a party tomorrow – a perfect opportunity for Nica to sneak in.

"Well, he could like men," Simmons offered shyly, a shiver shaking her from a bit at the idea of becoming a lover of the psychopath, as Fitz put it. Skye's swift fingers danced across the keyboard, several pictures of their target surrounded by beautiful women popping on the holograms.

"Closeted?" Simmons tried out unconvincingly. More pictures appeared and she grimaced. "Or not."

"Well then… _ladies_, who's feeling up to it?" Ward asked, his eyes sweeping his colleagues… and unmistakably landing on May before shifting to Nica. Clearly, Simmons wasn't the only one thinking she herself wasn't the woman for the job.

She was too _good_ for that. Too pure. At the moment, Nica's soul felt dark as a night, so she truly was up for it.

"No, hold that thought. There is still no specific plan. We have to be careful. we need to figure out how to watch over the agent. Otherwise, there is no guarantee of an extraction."

"Which is exactly why I'm the one who's gonna do it. Obviously," Nica retorted cheekily, earning several raised eyebrows as she got mouthy with Coulson of all people. "We have no time to-"

She was interrupted by Fitz' snort. "Really? Ice Queen? You're gonna-"

"Fitz!" Simmons chastised the scientist, her hands jumping a bit as if she wanted to throw them up in exasperation. "She had a moment. A big one. And several others. Stop calling her that."

May visibly rolled her eyes and turned her attention to Nica, expression serious, voice gravel… and _sensible._

"You think you can do it?"

"Yes," Nica answered instantly before thinking better of it, a lump of uncertainty forming in her throat. After all, this _was_ going to be rather difficult – and she didn't exactly have experience with seducing a powerful psychopath. "…I think." May kept looking at her expectantly as if waiting for her to make up her mind. And if anything, Nica's _mind_ was made; only doubts about her abilities gnawed at her brain. "Yes. Even if I die trying."

The click of Coulson's jaw was actually audible. "Nica. A word. _Now."_

Perhaps it was the tone that made the hairs stand up at her neck, a rebellious surge of stubbornness heating her up.

"No. If you have something to say, say it in front of them."

Her boss opened his mouth to say something, hesitantly closing it again and regathering his thoughts.

Nica was aware of how mean she was being; Coulson's kindness was stopping him from snapping at her and from revealing something from her past that he probably suspected was her motivation; he wasn't wrong, naturally.

"We shouldn't stop looking at other options just yet. This could be… this could be a suicide mission," he explained in mild voice, his grey eyes almost pleading – either for her to think twice before doing something stupid or for her to at least leave the room with him to talk in private so he could probe at her true agenda.

Nica was _not_ interested, even if it made her feel a bit like a bitch. But she was done. She truly was done playing nice, at least until she figured out whether her suspicions were right.

What would happen then, when she knew for certain?

She had no fucking clue.

"Potentially, yes. …not arguing with that. I just said that."

The blatant agreement rendered their boss speechless, an opportunity for the smartass of the team to speak up again. Nica did roll her eyes when Fitz did.

"Do I need to remind you we're still talking about Elsa here seducing— no, not seducing, actually _winning over someone's heart? _She's not exactly-" Her glare turned murderous at whatever Fitz was implying and he shut up at instant.

"Agent Davis has many qualities. I find her attractive. And she's a great agent," Ward argued and Nica could _kiss him_ right there – a feeling rather rare.

"He's not gonna believe her!" Fitz gestured wildly in Nica's direction as if the reason why he wasn't on board with this was staring right in their face.

Nica just grinded her teeth, taking a calming breath and tried her best to focus on the fact that having May's and Ward's vote was a big thing in her favour.

Simmons, having been quiet for a while, clearly interested in reading through the psychological profile, spoke up reluctantly.

"Well, it's true he might have problems with creating a bond, but at the same time, he could have a strong sense of… perceiving non-verbal signals, of non-sensory perception if you'd like. How to put that simply-"

"He can tell if she's just stringing him along," May caught up and Nica's stomach turned around.

Yeah, that could be a problem. She was a _terrible_ liar.

Then again, she had got quite great at omitting facts these past months. Unbeknown to everyone including herself, she had been preparing for the role this whole time.

"Yes!" Simmons exclaimed almost enthusiastically at being understood.

"See! Exactly."

"Fitz?" Nica snapped at last, having just enough of him. They had no damn time for this _and_ she didn't need his sassy ass thwarting her plan. "I do not like that you have any doubts about me. Stop underestimating me. You'd be surprised what I'm capable of."

Closing her eyes, she took another deep breath, focusing all of her energy on _remembering _what it felt like. What it felt like to be swept off her feet, complimented precisely the things she either liked about herself – or never learned to appreciate until _someone_ pointed out their love for them.

Slowly opening, she looked at Fitz with a gaze full of wonder, one of the brightest and the most honest of smiles – or she hoped so – spreading her lips.

It must have worked, because Fitz' eyes went wide as saucers and a breathless 'bloody hell' escaped him.

"You would be surprised what I can do for '_love'_ and the success of the mission," she added sweetly, ignoring the icy fist squeezing her insides.

She already hated pretending.

_Keep holding on, _she hummed humourlessly in her head, the premise of truth yet unrevealed causing her to push through the nausea.

She jumped few inches above the floor when a loud bang sounded from the table, Coulson's fist being the source. Her façade dissolved in an instant.

"Enough! We still haven't agreed on doing it in the first place-"

"It's a good plan. Mainly because it's the only plan we have. If you have any better-"

"…not _yet_. But we'll figure something out. We're not sacrificing an agent," he bargained and Nica noticed the vein rising on his forehead. She felt a pang of shame, but shushed it in order to convince him, acting bratty or not.

She just really hoped he wouldn't bench her completely instead. He wouldn't, right?

"Firstly, it's not like there's a guarantee that the agent actually _will_ die. And what's one life to save hundred, thousands? Not to mention it's my choice, that life is _mine_ to-"

"And it matters just like anyone else's! You said once that it should have been you – is that how you're repaying him for changing it?!"

Several sharp intakes of breath were the only sound in the room, but all Nica heard was ringing in her ears. It felt like a punch to her gut, a slap right in her face.

_Jesus._ He really went there. He really—he had-

The sudden flame of rage ignited in her belly took her by surprise – it shouldn't have, but it did. She had been pushing down the feeling of betrayal, the anger, the grief, for too long, deliberately hiding it under a blanket of blissful numbness. And this was the result.

"Watch your tongue!" she hissed like a cat, the words dripping enough venom to instantly change Coulson's expression into a guilty one. It only spurred her on. "…and the answer is no. But everyone dies one day, it's a pretty much the only certainty you get with life – it will end eventually. If I can do something good along the way? Taking down this son of a bitch? I can imagine _nothing_ better. I am willing to take that risk. We're doing this. Have a vote or whatever."

And with those words, she spun on her heel and walked out of the door, ignoring the whispers that followed.

"You shut me down from looking into her file, shut me down from actually finding _anything._ There is no digital print of her anywhere, she like a ghost and she's barely talking about her past. I want to vote responsibly. Just tell us. And don't bullshit me, don't try to tell me that it's a standard procedure with SHIELD. She's still hiding something-"

Coulson looked around the room, resisting the urge to follow after Nica to give him a piece of his mind, to let him momentary frustration out.

Instead, he clenched his jaw, sighed and looked Skye dead in the eye. "It's classified. Let's all take a five."

-.-.-

The 'five' had been long enough for everyone to take a breather. Nica caught Coulson whispering with May on her way back to the room, but she didn't try to listen in, praying May was talking the boss into giving in – it looked like it, judging from their postures.

And like a charm, Coulson did relent, much to Nica's relief. She officially became a potential lover to Kuznetsov.

Say a fucking _yay._

"So how do we play this? What kind of a person is Kuznetsov going to… fall for?" Ward wondered out loud, his attentive eyes scanning the information they had.

"Well, this is all the intel we have on him, we better work through it. Can't be that hard to figure it out, right?"

"I still don't like this. You said he's likely to catch her lying?" Fitz glanced at Simmons and she confirmed it with a grim nod.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Then how do we make him think she's being genuine?"

Nica didn't enjoy being too smug, but in this case, she was confident she already had a solution.

After all, she was going all in – she had nothing to lose, not _her_ personally. She had to convince him in order to save lives, no matter the cost. Plus, she needed her involvement in the mission to look like a cry for help.

"Easily. What is the easiest way of not getting caught up in a lie?" Nica offered, earning a frown from Skye.

"Uhm, I mean-"

"Don't think about it too hard, it's the simplest answer," Nica hinted them, soon catching Ward's knowing gaze.

"Not to lie."

She pointed his direction, nodding and ever charming a small smile.

"Exactly. Lies are hard to keep track of."

"So what? You're just gonna tell him that you're a SHIELD agent?" Fitz asked, his sarcasm showing again.

"Obviously not. But we will take as much of me as we can and only alternate a few things."

While Ward had seemed to understand, he was now staring at her with eyes slightly widened. Nica didn't blame him – or anyone on the team really, as all of them had shock written all over their faces. She could tell that some of them were actually _insulted_ that a criminal they wanted to catch was the reason for them to learn more about her.

"Seriously? We're just gonna reveal your identity to an evil mastermind? An identity _we_ didn't even know until now?"

_And there it was._

"Yes," she sighed, checking with Coulson wordlessly if that was alright. He didn't look _happy_ about it, but he gave her a tiny nod, which she counted as a win. "Of course, I will have to stay vague. Where am I from? Well, I was born in a small town in the north of the Czech Republic – or Czechia, whatever works for you, damn English-speaking world. Also, Nica sticks, I got used to it."

Skye's eyebrow rose. "…okay?"

"I think we should aim for creating a persona as authentic as we can without putting my family at risk." The icy fist that squeezed her heart at the idea of them getting hurt was a sensation almost as uncomfortable as welcomed. It told her that despite the madness she was about to get herself into, _some_ things never changed. Her family was _untouchable._ It was one of the reasons why they had no clue that she was alive in the first place—not that anyone who had known Veronika Macháčková did… even though- "Eh, meet Veronika Benešová. Me. Don't ask me how to spell that, most people don't like the reverse roofs and short lines we use in our alphabet."

A brief smile appeared on Coulson's lips – whether it was because Vera wasn't about to use her full name or because of her lame attempt at joking of which she wasn't sure about where it came from, she couldn't tell.

"What are they called again?" he hummed nonchalantly and Nica smiled back.

"It's 'háček' or 'háčky' in plural and 'čárka' and 'čárky'. Now, let's bring my persona to life, shall we?"

The sentence was more ironic than Vera intended.

-.-.-

Memories haunted her, twirling in her mind and causing her to lose sleep, which was inconvenient to say at least. Trying every single technique sans knocking herself out by hitting her head hard enough, she finally felt herself drift away, her dreams not any more soothing than her vigilant thoughts.

God only knew how she would sleep had she known everything that happened when she wasn't watching.

-.-.-

_May followed Coulson as the man left the room in long strides, obviously and naturally irritated at Nica's seemingly impulsive behaviour. But May knew better than that – lots and lots of emotions were bubbling under the surface and no matter how much the younger agent tried, May could read her just enough to realize that there was more to this._

"_Phil, wait, give her time," she called after him lowly as she reached him, causing him to halt in his steps and sigh in distress._

"_She's— this is what I've been afraid of since the first moment, but-"_

"_Picked her up despite her temper and possible suicidal tendencies, huh?" she hummed, her tone suggesting she was passing no judgement. They all had their demons, past that followed them around no matter how much they hated it. _

_May would know – and somehow without mentioning it out loud, Coulson picked up on that thought, the corners of his lips lifting in a sad smile, eyes softening._

"_Well… to be fair, it's a long time since she has showed any."_

_May couldn't decide whether she agreed, considering that Davis stayed behind in a building about to explode and didn't even _ask_ for help, but that wasn't the point at the moment. "Look…let's just give her a bit of time to think this through, to make a decision. When she's sure…"_

"_You're saying we're letting her do it? You can't be serious! She's not-"_

"_Phil, take a breath and listen to me! I know you feel responsible for her, but she had a point. Every single person on this plane is willing to do what's necessary in the name of greater good. If she volunteered and feels confident enough to do it…"_

"_We don't send people to die!" Coulson hissed in protest and May shook her head lightly, seeing that he wasn't fully hearing what she was saying, blinded by emotion too fierce at the moment. _

_That was his fatal fault – in the end, he was too kind, his heart too invested. He was too fatherly and having younger agents on his team didn't help… let alone such conflicted souls like Skye or Nica herself. _

"_We are facing death every day. We saved Skye a minute to midnight. And I'm not saying we should send Nica to die. We'll do our best, we'll keep looking for a way to make it as safe for her as possible and we'll find it, we always do," May said, the unspoken _'you _always do' hanging in the air. "And I understand that maybe she doubts agents should risk for her, so let's just… not tell her. And let her do this, give her – and all of us – the opportunity to kick Quinn's ally in the arse. She's a tough woman. I know she wasn't in the academy, but that's what makes her so valuable."_

_May watched his face as he pondered about her words, about Nica's nature, weighting up pros and cons. The chance to get back at Quinn played an important role to them all and both of the agents, as they stood there, were aware that all things considered, Nica _was_ the best pick. Unless May would go for it herself; and she wasn't confident she could pretend affection like that, no matter how much experience with coverwork she had._

"_There are so many things that could go wrong-" _

"_Valuable and _capable_, Phil," May added, interrupting him pointedly when he finally spoke only to still hesitate._

_That was the last straw, that was the crack May needed; apparently, he couldn't or wouldn't argue about _that_._

"_You're saying you're volunteering for the extraction?"_

"_No, she would know, we cook things up together all the time, kinda like you do with her," she allowed herself to tease Coulson briefly before returning to the serious matter. "I'm saying Ward plus a team we put together from other units."_

"_That does sound acceptable."_

_May couldn't agree more and in her mind, she smiled at the irony of life:_

_Having his heart too invested in the well-being of his team was Phil Coulson's greatest fault. And at the same time, it was his greatest fuel and his greatest strength. _

-.-.-  
_Notes:  
__I'm hoping 4-5 chapters are ahead and an epilogue._

_Thank you if you're still here and I hope you're staying safe and sound!_


	12. The Fine Line

**11\. The Fine Line between a Gentleman and a Jerk**

Morning wasn't any easier for Vera than her sleepless night in the luxurious sheets.

It was unfortunate to say at least – Veronika was supposed to be fresh and all charming, not looking absolutely pathetic with enormous bruise-like circles under her eyes.

But she would take what she got – she woke up in a mansion owned by her target, a dangerous billionaire who was about to blow up a _somewhere,_ and if the last night was anything to go by, she had _some_ of his sympathies. At least she had something to work with and the rest could be fixed with make-up – and walking to the bathroom attached to _her_ room, she remembered that Kuznetsov was nothing but efficient, already having her bag brought from the hotel she was supposed to be lodged at.

It was creepy, really, but what else had she expected? That man had _power,_ getting a minion to pick up her stuff was the least problem for him.

Vera tried to ignore the flutter of nausea in her stomach, her skin paling even more in the reflection in the large mirror.

_It's okay, you're just about to have a breakfast with a murderous psychopath, calm your nerves._

Right.

To be fair… yesterday night, she found him a bit sleazy, but wouldn't call him an entirely unpleasant company. She could do this.

…right?

For the truth, for justice, for herself – yeah, she had to. The game, if she could even call it that, the very dangerous game had already started and she either came out on a winning side… or she might actually die.

Contrary to the popular belief, dying was not the option Vera was fond of.

No, Vera wanted to live. At least long enough to ensure the success of this mission and the reveal of their not-so-mysterious ally.

So far, things went relatively smoothly… she just hoped it would stay that way.

-.-.-

With a talent like Skye, getting an invitation to a private party and making everyone believe that they belonged was a piece of cake – or at least Skye made it look like that when working.

Invitations, fake ID's and identities to begin with, memorizing Kuznetsov's personal details and everything that could be found in his files, and before Vera knew it, she was third-wheeling Coulson and May, sipping on her champagne and watching the crowd from her safe corner.

She had found four different points of entrance – escape routes, should the need rise – to the ballroom, kept her eye at Kuznetsov as he was shaking hands and turning shots bottoms up, while she herself wondered how to approach him. With the corner of her eye, she couldn't but follow the movement of her boss and the best damn pilot she knew… not that there were many.

Point was, Coulson and May made quite a pair, falling into the role of a couple in love way too easily for it to be only pretended. Vera had suspected a little more affection blooming between the two for a while now, but seeing them like this, what they easily _could_ be, was making her chest pleasantly warm. They deserved happiness… so why didn't they pursuit it? Why did they keep taking one job after another, risking their lives, their only home being a damn _jet?_

She supposed she had no right to judge though; after all, she was still here, pulling stunts like that despite literally having been offered a chance to walk away, start a new life, settle down.

Perhaps deep down, she had known she had to go on – so she could be led right into this moment.

"Fancy a dance?" sounded on her right and she sighed, unable to decide whether she was grateful for the having her train of thought cut off.

She turned to Ward with a half-hearted smile, meeting his dark eyes. They were calculating, focused on their mission. Whatever reason he had to ask her, politeness wasn't it.

Which was the biggest part of the reason why Vera nodded, laid down her glass on the nearest flat surface and accepted the offered hand which led her to the dance floor, blending in with the few couples.

"Enjoying the party?" Ward asked, a subtle drop of irony in his voice and Vera raised one corner of her lips in order to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

He had come separately, while Vera was meant to be a guest of Parkers' – aka May and Coulson. Ward was supposed to watch from afar mainly, but interact as often as he saw fit.

Apparently, he thought it was time to _meet_ Vera. Well. Why the heck not, right? At least she could speak freely… enough.

"Not really. Still figuring out how to sneak into Kuznetsov's close quarters without looking like a spy… or a complete whore," she hummed honestly, causing a shadow cast over Ward's face as he twirled her through the room in the rhythm of waltz, grip firm, but surprisingly gentle.

Dancing with him was a surreal experience entirely – she thought it would hurt, a painful jab at what had been and still could be, but her body, even so close to _Ward_ of all people, whom she never was sure if she could truly trust, felt… _comfortable. _Soothing even, her body plunging into the sensation of familiarity, muscle memory working its magic.

In fact, having been led through the ballroom, Vera felt like she could breathe freely for the first time in ages.

"Well, that's unfortunate," he hummed in the end, eyeing the scientist as he laughed with another two men – and then his gaze trailed over the room, anchoring on them. Ward's eyebrow rose subtly. "But apparently, you can charm him with your dancing skills. You're a really wonderful dancer, Veronica."

Hearing her name from his lips only turned the situation weirder, the memories carefully locked out threatening to escape.

Luckily for Vera, her memories could hold an important key, she realized. This wasn't her first time she was dancing with a man whom she considered arrogant.

When Ward spun her and dipped her, she caught a sight of Kuznetsov, still following them with his gaze and her smirk deepened.

The idea formed in her brain in a fraction of second and she purposely eased up her stance so her eyes could meet Ward's.

"Bring me closer, please."

For all the doubts she had about Ward, he didn't seem to feel the same – or he was able to fully ignore it, because he pressed her body closer to his without question.

He let her dip again, her whole upper half tilted back, his sure hand on her upper back leading her to make a circle while her chest, the length of her neck and her face was on display for everyone around them; when he brought her back, her breasts were practically squeezed against his muscular chest. His hand slid to her lower back, so their bodies were nearly merging.

He seemed unfazed by the position when she looked up, but the hushed words leaving her lips next did seem to knock him off of balance, at least mentally.

"Grope me."

To his credit, he kept his poker-face in place and only the tinniest shift in his gaze gave away the question mark forming in his head.

"_Visibly,' _she mouthed and gave him an encouraging smile.

Ward might have remained puzzled, but once again, he appeared to trust her enough to follow such instruction, which she cherished. He licked his lips _(wow, what an actor)_ and his hand on her back slid even lower.

And lower. And-

The smack echoed in the ballroom as her palm connected with his cheek.

Gee, that felt _good, _no matter the fact that Ward didn't deserve it at the moment; the satisfaction filled every fibre of Vera's being as she imagined her action was a reward for every single smug smile of his.

"Pervert!" she shrieked theatrically and swallowed against the feeling of her heart jumping to her throat, nervously looking around.

So many eyes were drawn to her, including Kuznetsov's; good. To her own surprise, tears welled up, one escaping and rolling down her cheek as she shook her head and rushed from the dancing hall.

"What the hell just happened?" Skye's voice rang in Vera's ear as she strode towards the bathroom.

Vera had to hide her smile when May responded instead of her having to explain. "A scene. Nica just caused a scene… and she definitely caught Kuznetsov's attention."

-.-.-

Vera spent a good fifteen minutes hiding in the bathroom, repairing her make-up and taking deep breaths; judging by the chatter on the comms, she had done a fine job – well, Ward had. He was apparently led out of the room between two gorilla-like men from security and no one heard from him since – Vera wasn't too worried though, believing he could take care of himself.

She thought of the fifteen minutes as of a perfect time slot to compose herself after a dance with a handsy man, not too long considering she was a grown-ass woman (and she couldn't afford anyone believe she had _that much _of a troubled past when it came to touching, it would get in the way later), yet not too short considering she had to repair her looks _and_ deal with the mess of feelings in her head.

When she left, she found her quiet corner again, eyes still slightly red-rimmed, but not terribly, and she hoped to appear something between perfectly content on her own and yet yearning for a good company. Coulson and May stopped for barely half a minute, playing their role and making sure she was _'alright'_ after the scene on the dance floor, but went their way soon after that.

"Now what's a lady like yourself doing here all alone? Such grace hidden away in a corner?" a male voice questioned and Vera winced slightly on instinct despite having heard the man approach.

She bit the inside of her cheek before turning around so she wouldn't smile too wide.

Delicately spinning on her heels, she faced _the man_ himself.

Nikolay Kuznetsov, complete in a fine suit and a neutral but almost an inviting expression on his face, was standing right beside her, head slightly titled in a silent challenge.

"Hiding away, as you said," Vera hummed noncommittally before eyeing the dance floor longingly. "Observing."

"Searching for a man with less than crude manners, perhaps?"

She didn't have to fake in the slightest, simply remembering the time when she truly was ashamed of how many people had seen her mishap with her dance partner; she blushed to the roots of her hair.

"You saw, sir?"

He clicked his tongue discontentedly. "Now, now, no need to be ashamed. Certainly not you."

Vera scoffed slightly, but then shook her head, once again fully paying attention to her suitor – and really, it was simpler to think about him that way, no matter strangely it sounded… certainly easier than wrecking her nerves with the fact that he was her _target._

"Thank you. If I may be so frank, I was expecting a better company when Jason and Linda took me to this party, but… I suppose men without manners are everywhere," she mumbled, pursing her lips softly as if in a pout she couldn't help.

She nearly cheered when his eyes fell on her lips.

So far, their intel proved to be correct. Kuznetsov definitely liked a pretty face. And what more, he fell right into the trap she had set in a rush; as a childhood victim of a bully himself, he had been tormented for long enough to be scarred and angry about other bullies; a sucker for a damsel in distress with all the money and protection he could provide.

Shit, it felt good to be right, even about something like this. Vera didn't want to allow herself to be smug; smug meant being one step from making a silly mistake, but she might even think she was developing a spy instinct.

"Don't worry, darling, he won't be bothering you anymore."

"Thank _fuck," _Vera huffed in relief, quickly covering her mouth as the curse felt her lips. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate."

Predictably, Kuznetsov chuckled at her outburst, genuinely amused – probably finding it cute that a lady with supposed manners let herself slip. His fingers brushed her wrist as if on accident.

"Oh, I understand, darling, I think we can allow a little slip of a tongue for a man why didn't know how to treat a lady," Kuznetsov offered graciously, a hint of a patronizing approach. Vera didn't mind – she needed him to underestimate her, at least for a bit.

Sparks danced in his eyes as he gave her an appreciative glance and Vera thanked _fuck_ for the resources of American government, because the facts were that she actually did look pretty good in the dress that cost enough to make her head spin.

"Why don't you have a dance with _me?_ I promise you will not feel my hands anywhere near where there aren't supposed to be."

"Oh. Oh, I… I don't know, sir. I'm- excuse me, I should probably go back to my friends," Vera played coy, not having to pretend to be hesitant since being alone and close with him _did_ feel as terrifying as triumphant.

It was a good thing that she could mask it as clearly being afraid he was only sweet-talking her before he would do exactly the same as Ward.

Kuznetsov's face practically screamed understanding – but also insistence of a man who knew what he wanted.

"Such a lovely dame should be pampered and not left alone," he opposed, fingers delicately curling around her wrist. "However, I cannot force you. Perhaps we could dance later? Now why don't I get you a glass of water and perhaps something to… lift your spirits?"

He brought her hand to his lips, certainly not shy about kissing the back of it rather than hover above her skin. She dropped her gaze, a little smile toying with the corner of her lips, peeking at him from under her eyelashes as even in heels, he had few inches on her.

"You would be so kind?" she wondered, smiling sweetly. "And I don't even know your name…"

One corner of his lips rose in a smirk and he seemed to grow both in height and in the broadness of his shoulders, his own importance giving his ego a boost.

"Now I find that hard to believe…" he teased her and Vera shrugged, playing off the fact that she was obviously lying. Thankfully, he was known by all of the attendees – there was nothing strange about her knowing who he was.

"Well, we haven't been introduced _properly_." She tried to add a flirtatious note to her voice and she could feel how her interest stroked his already big enough ego. God, men were so predictable sometimes.

_Thank god for that._

Placing another kiss on the back of her hand, he told her his full name.

"What about you, angel? What do they call you?"

"Veronika Benešová. But my friends call me Nica."

His smirk grew into a full confident and flirty grin. "Well… I hope I can soon earn that privilege then."

-.-.-

Obviously, Nikolay did earn his right to call her not only her first name, but also her nickname.

After the general praises to the party – leaving out the rude guests in her comments – and showing her appreciation for his caretaking by touching his arm once or twice, the conversation took the expected turn. Kuznetsov was a man who liked to talk about himself, naturally, but he apparently liked to show interest by actually asking his companion about her too.

And he was very interested in how a woman of such name found herself in the United States, at his party, no less.

Vera didn't have to lie when saying she had escaped her country, because she desperately needed a change, still not lying when saying that she was dead to her family.

"Pardon my intrusive questions, Nica. But how did you find yourself in such circles? Please, don't get me wrong, you appear at home here and if you're sticking out, then it's only in the best ways possible," he complimented her, his wandering eye sneaking a peek at her cleavage and her leg indeed _sticking out_ from the long slit of her dress.

"I have… generous benefactors so to speak," Vera explained vaguely, once again not one false note in her voice. She beckoned lightly to Coulson and May, who were momentarily having fun at the dance floor as if seemed – and damn, they did make a great couple.

"Mm. And how does an Eastern Europe woman get herself a benefactor and turns up on scenes like this one?"

Kuznetsov really was making way too easy for Vera – she didn't have to act whatsoever. She didn't have to fake the outrage at such question.

"It's… middle Europe, which I'd think you know. Though I shouldn't be surprised a man of your origin would make such mistake and ignore the smaller nation. And to be frank, I don't like what you're implying, _sir."_

His palms swiftly rose as he attempted to show he meant no harm nor offence – something flashed in his eyes when she switched back from Nikolay to _sir_, but Vera only stored that information for later, choosing to ignore it at the moment in the favour of dealing with the issue at hand.

"I apologize, I did deserve that," Kuznetsov admitted, almost repentant, much to Vera's astonishment. Did he actually feel bad for insulting her? So much for men being predictable… "I didn't mean to insult you, of course, I can see you are not the type to sell your body or whatever implication you felt from my words. However, it is a mystery to me and I am a curious man. You fascinate me."

The amount of time in which he could switch from being a condescending pig to a charming heartbreaker was a _mystery_ to Vera, if she was being honest.

She sighed and with a simple motion of her hand ordered another martini, one she drank in nearly one go – still while letting Kuznetsov wait for her answer, one he would find disappointing no doubt.

The irony or every word Vera spoke was giving her spins… or was it the alcohol? She would definitely blame it on the alcohol in front of _him._

"Right place, right time. Couple of smiles sent the right way."

"Hm… not in for the money though, are you?" he observed her attentively, something dark flashing in his eyes and her breath hitched.

For a brief second, she was sure he saw right through her, as his hand rose to her face – her hair was combed to the left, purposely covering her ear and now, he went straight for it, pushing the strands that were slowly leaving their attempted place behind her ear to reveal it.

Even knowing that she herself had flushed the earpiece down the toilet, her heart was pounding frantically in her ribcage, her throat growing tight simply because he obviously felt the need to check, letting her know for the first time that he was more than just a mass of testosterone; that he truly was a powerful and _dangerous_ man, one who was understandably cautions before falling for an act of a woman.

He smiled contentedly, eyes softening when the only thing he saw was an expensive earring matching the rest of her jewellery. Vera still had trouble catching her breath and prayed to God he thought it was because of his fingers growing more daring, even if still tender.

"But it does feel good, doesn't it?" he pried with a spark of mischief in his green irises, a lick to his lips.

Vera was growing more uncomfortable in her skin by the second.

"Yes," she agreed, clearing her throat against the lump that grew there. _Calm the fuck down._ "Not going to deny that. But no, the money… it's not the main motivation."

His hand moved minutely, fingers skimming her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip. She parted her lips on instinct, but visibly retreated, lowering her gaze.

She wanted him to get a bit handsy, sure, but for one, she needed to be consistent – if she had protested so much about him implying she was using her body, she needed to stick by it – and for two, it was hard to ignore the wave of nausea that hit her stomach.

And to think she believed she was ready to play with him, in fact using the weakness men had… _fuck,_ she was so stupid. If he kissed her, she might throw up in her mouth a bit, sweet-talking her for the past hour or not.

Thankfully, he took the hint, lowering his hand to reprieve himself from other unwanted advances. "Love is, isn't it? You're looking for a good man, one who will be able to take care of you however."

The fact that he could read her – at least partly and when it came to her choice of a man, was slightly terrifying. Even if he was reading Vera from several years ago.

The words nearly got stuck in her throat, but she forced them out in order to gain more trust.

This was all in – she had accepted that or at least told herself that. She had to speak the truth, as much as was safe, nd she had to open up and make herself vulnerable as much as she hated it.

_All in._

"I thought I found one," Vera said slowly, briefly meeting Kuznetsov's curious eyes. "He got a better position at work, got his own office… and started sleeping with his new secretary," she continued with a wry smile. No matter the years that had passed, the betrayal still stung a bit, ready to undermine her confidence. But she had grown a lot since then… and got her heart broken all over again. "No matter what people say, money can't buy happiness. But they do corrupt people."

This time it was him who ordered her another drink. Funny – she didn't remember finishing the previous one. The bartender brought another martini, but not for one second Kuznetsov's eyes left Vera's face. It was surreal, really, that he paid her so much attention.

He was nothing she had imagined.

"There's more. I can tell. You've got burnt more than once."

Yeah. He was definitely a better people-reader than she had expected despite studying the files thoroughly and hearing Simmons suspect that he would.

_All in, _Vera reminded herself again and thanked heavens that had enough reason to throw away the earpiece not only for Kuznetsov's suspicions, but also for the team's inability to listen now. Despite what she had been trying to convince herself about, she was _not at all_ ready for the team to know everything about her.

"Yes. I… made a mistake again," Vera admitted, gaze focusing on a spot on a wall above Kuznetsov's head. She couldn't believe she was about to talk about it, let alone with a man like him. Her stomach made a somersault, her knees growing weak enough for her having to grab the counter for balance. Shit, the world was spinning. He didn't drug her, right? She gulped and forced herself to continue. "He stayed away from big money. Good man, bad businessman. Got himself killed. Got-" she pressed her eyelids together, the burn in them unbearable as was the dull emptiness under her stomach. She had been feeling full once. _A lifetime ago. _ "Got our daughter killed too, _before she could be born—_I'm sorry."

She hiccupped and covered her mouth in horror – shit, this was too much, he would leave her now and the mission was over, _failed,_ this was all in _vain, _just like her years with-

A firm squeeze on her shoulder stopped the world collapsing on her, a warm body suddenly engulfing her, much to her shock.

She sobbed more from the surprise than from sorrow – she had learned how to lock it away, the defence mechanism snapping back into place almost instantly –, but shit, she didn't expect him to _hug her._

"I… I'm truly sorry," the scientist whispered, his intrusive cologne tickling Vera's nose and strangely enough, grounding her.

She let out few more sobs, _genuine,_ before pulling away resolutely and wiping the several stray tears.

"So am I. I apologize, I am a terrible company-" she stated, only to be interrupted.

"I would expect nothing less, considering what situation I witnessed earlier. Still, I am pleasantly surprised. And I appreciate your honesty-"

"It's probably the alcohol, I usually don't drink much unless something truly upsets me."

And Vera, Nica, Agent Davis, whatever name she gave herself, she had been upset non-stop for a while now, apparently. So, once again, she truly wasn't lying.

"I do understand that. Alcohol… can be a convenient friend, but I can tell you're stronger than to fall into the trap it offers so sweetly," he said bitterly, as if talking from experience. "And I appreciate a strong woman. You were hardened by fire, my dear, and you rose like a phoenix from the ashes. Beautiful and stunning."

Vera offered a weak smile despite these being the most cliché words she had heard from him during the evening.

She was honestly just delighted at the fact that he didn't leave in disgust at her outburst. Once again, he managed to surprise her. God only knew why he was still wasting time with her – but she was willing to thank the big man upstairs every day from this now on.

"Thank you, Nikolay."

"However, your benefactors are leaving and they seem in a good mood-" he pointed out bluntly.

Vera's eyes scanned the crowd and soon found Coulson and May making their way outside indeed.

"Ah. It's like a celebration for them. I didn't plan on leaving with them, I have a hotel room booked and enough cash to-"

"Oh no, allow me," he quickly interrupted and Vera had to swallow the squeal of joy and relief. "Why don't you stay here for a night? In a spare room, of course, there are many. I wouldn't want to abuse the situation at hand."

Vera took extra care to flutter her eyelashes and to add a grateful yet genuinely shy tone to her voice. "You… you would do that?"

"Yes, of course. I can promise you that you'll be safe here. That… that daring man was taken care of-"

Vera's back straightened as if she got slapped, an image of Ward shot in his chest appearing in front of her eyes. It felt like a punch to her solar plexus, causing her heart to hammer in her chest.

"_Taken care of?"_

"Forced to leave the party, as you may have noticed," Nikolay smiled graciously, a glint in his eyes making Vera's stomach tighten.

"…violently?" she whispered, not having to hide the shudder. Ward could be a dick, but fuck, she didn't want him _dead_ for helping her get into Kuznetsov's favour.

Kuznetsov frowned at her reaction, discontent as he licked his lips. "Now, I can tell you have taken a class or two of self-defence at least. You are a strong woman inside and out, I see. You mind a little bit of a physical warning so he would behave better?"

Oh, oh _thank god-_

"Oh no, good. Thank you. I just… hope he can still walk…" Vera explained hastily, a scowl twisting her lips right after in a surge of anger to her _past_ dance partner – really, all these parallels with her old life helped a bunch. "…but that his balls hurt like a bitch."

"Ha!" the scientist chuckled, this time an appreciative spark in his eye. "Perhaps next time, it was only his ribs and face today."

_Oh, now that makes it better, _Vera thought. Poor Ward, the slap had been satisfying enough, now she truly only felt sorry for him. Not that she could show it.

"I hope there will be no next time, actually," Vera said matter-of-factly, earning an approving hum. "… you'd truly let me stay? I must say that I am quite tired, both physically and psychically."

"Of course." He waved one of his security men to come to their side. "Phillip, why don't you show Miss Benešová to her room? Make sure it's one with a nice view and is close to mine should she need anything, would you?"

"Of course, sir," the gorilla of a man – and really, where did they grow these kind of men, on a steroid farm? – replied obligingly.

"And make sure to find out which hotel she has her things at so we can have it brought here. We want her to be comfortable."

It was one of the creepiest thing Vera ever heard, but her bar was low at that point – and after all, _this_ was exactly what she wanted, right?

She couldn't resist the opportunity to show gratitude in a 'drunk way' and leaned in, brushing her lips over Kuznetsov's cheek, his beard scratchy. Thank god for the alcohol; the gesture felt right and yet wrong – but good for her mission and for her cover, she hoped. Judging by his satisfied smirk, she made a good call.

"Thank you, Nikolay."

"My pleasure."

Vera ignored the wave of nausea at the implication of his true pleasure coming… at her hand, supposedly.

But that was not the issue tonight, fortunately. She still had a long journey ahead of herself if she wanted to win this game.

She didn't expect to get much sleep.

-.-.-

Opening her eyes to check her reflection in the mirror for the last time, the past and the present mending together and making a confusing picture, Vera groaned and wished she could just stay in the bed forever – or at least in her luxurious room.

But there was no rest for the wicked.

-.-.-  
_Notes:_  
_Hey, there. Thank you for reading!_

_I hope you're doing okay and I still deeply appreciate your patience with me when it comes to this story. Take care_


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